


WANTED

by TheAuthorAgain



Series: LOVED [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stucky - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Slurs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Self-Harm, Strong Language, canon-divergent, split POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 25,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27967490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorAgain/pseuds/TheAuthorAgain
Summary: The Winter Soldier is dangerous. Bucky Barnes is not. Steve Rogers knows this, but convincing the world will bring about more surprises than anyone saw coming.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: LOVED [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048369
Comments: 16
Kudos: 15





	1. Killer

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first book in a completed quartet initially posted on Wattpad. There are a few formatting things (ex. the lack of italics) that may make it slightly disjointed from switching platforms.
> 
> If you did not read the tags, this story contains strong language, homophobic slurs, and self harm. These things are not included with the intent of upsetting anyone, they are used tastefully to further the plot in a more complex way. Please reach out if you have a specific trigger that you want me to make sure is not in this story, something that I wouldn't know to include a warning for. Stay safe and enjoy WANTED!

"The Winter Soldier is a killer."

"He's dangerous."

"He killed my parents."

"My children."

"My friends."

I'm getting tired of this. No, tired is too mild of a word. I'm downright pissed that everyone around me sees Bucky as some murderous madman. It seems like I'm the only person on the planet who can distinguish between Bucky and the Soldier. Because there is a difference. A big one.

SHIELD is gone, finished. The ships have fallen out of the sky, the damage is done. And Bucky? The Winter Soldier, mass murderer? He kept me from dying along with the corrupted organization. Not that that means anything to anyone but me.

Two months, and not a peep. The Soldier can hide, all right. But he will be found.

\-----------------------------------------

"You sure about this?" Sam asks, leaning against the kitchen counter in my apartment, "I know he's important to you, but this-"

"This is what needs to be done to get him back," I reply curtly, shrugging a nondescript bag onto my back. "And don't you dare try and convince me that he doesn't deserve to come home."

He looks into my eyes and sees the conviction behind them. "Alright, man. Do what you're gonna do."

I nod and stride out the door with purpose. I am going to get back my best friend today. I am.

A blue car waits for me outside, engine purring. The drivers side window rolls down, and the infamous Black Widow smirks at me through it. "Ready, Soldier?"

I have to smile. "Yes, ma'am."

I hop in shotgun as she starts talking. "I'll cover the entrance. You search the inside of the building, see if you can find him. The few agents SHIELD has left have a lot of intel that this is where Barnes is currently. If you find him, tell me. Seriously, Rogers, I know you've got a soft spot for the guy, but he's dangerous."

"He's not-"

She rolls her eyes, "Oh, he's not dangerous, he's just a lost little puppy who needs a big, strong man to come rescue him. I've heard this before, Cap."

I frown. "I don't think I've ever used those words..."

"That's beside the point. You find Barnes, and you tell me when you do. Got it?"

"Got it." I take a deep breath and settle into his seat. Bucky is coming home.

\-----------------------------------------

The sun dips into the horizon as we trudge up to the abandoned warehouse. The car is parked a few blocks away to avoid being seen. As we near the gaping hole that serves as a door, Natasha turns to me.

"Remember Steve, I'll be right outside if shit starts to go down. I know you think you've got a handle on the guy, but you need to be careful."

I nod and step inside.

The building smells like dust and dead rats. I shudder at the thought of someone living here, especially someone as vulnerable as Bucky. I search the first floor silently, guided by the moonlight shining through glassless windows. Moving upstairs, my stomach leaps at the sight of an empty black sleeping bag strewn across the floor. Staying low, I slowly move towards it. Though it carries no occupants, it's hiding a much used black notebook. With shaking hands, I open it to a random page.

My name is Bucky Barnes My name is Bucky Barnes My name is KILLERKILLERKILLERKILLER

I jump at the sight of the brutish handwriting interrupting that which I recognized to be Bucky's. If this isn't proof that The Winter Soldier and my friend are different, I don't know what-

"Steve?"

At my name I turn, finding a grimy and surprised brunette looking at me with those beautiful blue eyes. I stare back for a moment, then find my words.

"Bucky, I'm so glad to see-"

"Steve, do you copy?"

I curse at the crackling sound of Natasha in my ear. "What is it?" Bucky asks, backing away slightly.

"Nothing, nothing at all Buck, just-"

"Rogers, have you located Barnes?"

Ripping the communicator out of my ear, I turn all of my attention to the old friend standing in front of me. "I know that you probably don't believe me after everything that's happened, but I want you to come back to headquarters with me. We can try to get him out of your head, Buck, you can be you again."

His metal arm grips the other, and he rocks back on his heels. "I've done so many bad things, Steve..."

"So have I, pal. We all have. And the guy that's been making you do that stuff can go away. I promise." I look at him intensely, hoping my face had the capacity to express just how badly I want Bucky to come back. Gulping, the brunette opens his mouth, but his words are lost to the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs.

Bucky bolts as at least a dozen agents barrel after him, fully armed. I start after them but am held back by a slender hand on my arm. I turn to see Natasha's livid face inches from mine.

"I told you to tell me when you found him."


	2. Innocent

"The hell is this, Nat?"

"Do you honestly think I would try to bring down the world's most dangerous assassin without backup?" she asks, anger radiating from every word.

"We're not bringing him down, we're bringing him home!" Shock and betrayal make my voice crack.

She rolls her eyes. "For such a smart guy, you can be pretty stupid. He doesn't just get to live his life, because he is a murderer and-"

"I swear to God, if you keep blaming him for-"

"You're being naive. I'm trying to save everyone's skin, while you're trying to save his. We can't work together if you refuse to accept the truth."

"He's not dangerous," I say, voice shaking with every word, "And I can't let you convict an innocent man."

She looks at me with exasperation and pity. "You don't have a choice, Cap. Besides, I already have." She goes down the stairs, and I notice that the sounds of conflict have ceased. They caught him. I let him down again.

\-----------------------------------------

"Come on, Steve, it's just a ride!"

"Buck, you know I hate them-"

"Just this once? Please?" He looks at me, pleading, and I have to give in.

"Ok. But if I throw up, it's on you."

He laughs and runs to the line. I hurry to catch up, but my legs are too short and there's already three people behind him in line when I reach him. They grumble and complain when I cut in front of him.

The ride isn't as bad as I thought it would be, but that doesn't say much. I cling to Bucky's arm the whole time as he laughs and whoops. When we get off, my legs are so shaky that I can barely stand. He pulls me up onto his back, and buys me an ice cream cone.

"Thanks for indulging me, Stevie," he says, still exhilarated from the ride.

"It was fun," I lie, warmed by the sight of the grin pulled onto his face.

\-----------------------------------------

The tension is tangible as we drive to Stark Tower. I look out the window, lost in memory. His smile could light up a room. It really could. More than anything, I want to see it again.

Though we enter the doors in the early hours of morning, we're greeted by a bustling room. Tony is talking with a group of people I don't know, but he leaves them when he sees Natasha and I come in. "Morning ladies," he says with a grin, "Rough night?"

Nat smiles at him, but goes straight to business. "Where is he?"

"Holding cell downstairs. High security, obviously."

"Guards?"

"Plenty, hon. Don't worry, this guy isn't getting out anytime soon."

Tony is smiling, lighthearted. It burns me up. "When are you letting him out, Stark?"

His smile falters at the sight of my hardened expression. "Well..."

"When are you going to fix him? Get the Winter Soldier out of his head?"

He sighs. "Look, Cap, I don't know if that's possible."

I freeze. "What do you mean?"

"It's been seventy years, gramps, seventy years of conditioning and brainwashing and memory damage. I don't think any amount of anything is gonna be able to erase that."

Natasha turns to me, pity in her eyes. "I know he was your friend, Steve, but he's gone now. You have new friends. What is he to you, really?"

My mind races through years and years of sickness and pain, Bucky helping me through with a smile and embrace. Unwavering loyalty, unquestioning friendship. Giving without expecting anything in return. Staying beside me throughout war and suffering, til the end of the line. Or what I thought was the end of the line, as I watched him fall endlessly to his frigid death. I shouldn't have assumed that was the end. But I did. We're here because of me. And I can't let him go without a fight. I turn and leave, ignoring Nat and Tony calling after me. I hot wire some car on the street, and think through a plan on my way home.


	3. Important

I knew him. I don't know him anymore, but I knew him.

His name is Steve Rogers. My name is Bucky Barnes. My name is Bucky Barnes.

I can't remember anything else. It comes to me in flashes. I write them down. They fade away but the paper holds them. I want my notebook.

Where am I? Not that it matters much anymore. I'm not free. I'm caged. It's not the cage I'm used to. It's...warmer. Bigger. Where am I?

I think I usually remember more. Yes, I do. It comes and goes, ebbs and flows...I want my notebook. Did they take it?

Steve had it. Steve was there, he was holding it. In the warehouse, right. I was living there. They came and they took me away. Yes. They put me in a cage that isn't my cage but is a cage nonetheless. Where did Steve go?

There's more. There's...who is Steve? He's important. I know that. He's important.

But why?

\-----------------------------------------

I can sit for a long time. I don't know how long I've been sitting here. Some people have come in to try and talk to me, but they speak softly and in English. This is not my cage. But they still speak to me like I'm an animal. This is a cage.

I eat food. I don't know what it is. I don't care what it is. I sit. I think.

Why is Steve important?

When the crashing sounds start, I don't move. I'm used to noise. My world is noise. The door unlocks. Footsteps. Someone...a hand, it touches my chin. I shudder and cringe away, no hands that touch me mean well. It pulls away, and I hear a voice. A name.

"Bucky."

I recognize that name. Is it...it's mine. My name is Bucky. My name is Bucky Barnes. That voice...I look up, and I see him. I see Steve. He smiles at me, and

We're walking down the back alley, and he's wiping blood away from his nose.

"Can you at least try to take care of yourself?" I ask, shoving his bony shoulder.

"I do try, it's just that taking care of other people is more important." He smiles and runs ahead, expecting me to chase him. I stand in wonder for a moment, then quickly oblige.

I cry out, and Steve catches me as I fall out of the chair he had just unchained me from. I desperately try to hold onto the memory, but it seeps away. The blonde man is looking at me with...what is it? Concern? Who is he? Why is he concerned?

"You alright, Buck?"

Steve. His name is Steve Rogers. My name is Bucky Barnes. Steve is looking at me more-oh, right.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I reply hastily, my voice cracking from lack of use. He smiles, a nice sight, and pulls me to my feet.

"Let's get you out of here, pal."

\-----------------------------------------

We're in a car, moving fast. Fast enough that every bump in the road makes me grab the door of the car. Steve is in the front seat with a man I don't know, talking with a worried look on his face. Why is Steve worried? I don't want Steve to be worried.

I don't want Steve to be worried because he's my friend. He's my friend, which is why I pulled him out of the river. because he's important. He's my friend, and friends are important.

I'm relieved. I remember. I wish I had my notebooks so that I could remember quicker, but I remember. Even though my head aches, I feel my lips curl into a small smile.

Steve looks back at me just them, and beams. "Hey Bucky, what's got you happy?"

"You're my friend, Steve."

His eyes get shiny, and he looks at the man that's driving. The man doesn't return his gaze, but his face contorts into a pained acceptance. Steve smiles wider and turns back to me with startling blue eyes. "Yes, Bucky, I'm your friend."

I don't look away, and neither does he. I observe every angle of his face, trying to memorize it. His smile fades, but I think he's still happy. I'm not sure. It's hard to tell what goes on behind those eyes.

The car pulls to a stop outside of a small green house. Steve and the man get out, and I jump as the doors slam shut. Mine opens, and I turn to see Steve beckoning to me. I slowly get out of the car and jump again when the door slams behind me.

The other man is talking as he opens the door. "...and as long as you stay put Stark-"

I'm sitting in the lab, watching Howard work his magic.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing to a threatening looking metal contraption.

"Uh, unfinished," he answers, writing down complex looking equations.

"Yeah, okay, but what's it gonna be?" I'm okay with not knowing everything he does, but I do like to push his buttons when I have the chance.

"Something for the war effort. We can't all fight in the front lines like you, Sergeant. Now get outta here before I test it out on you."

I smirk, "At least then I'd know what it does,"

He lets out a hearty laugh. "I swear you'll be the death of me, Barnes."

My head burns and I clutch it, doubling over. Steve, shocked, grabs my arms.

"Bucky? Bucky, what's-"

"Howard Stark," I grunt, "Buttons. Lab." I can't remember anything else.

"Ok pal, let's get you inside." He steadies me as I stumble into the suburban home and collapse onto a worn sofa. I take several deep breaths, Steve still holding onto me, until the pain fades away, most of the memory with it. All I can remember is

"Howard Stark. Who is he?" I ask suddenly, startling Steve.

He fumbles to answer, letting go of my arms to run a hand through his hair. "Uh, Howard Stark, right. Billionaire, he helped make me into Captain America, designed a bunch of weaponry and-"

"Captain America?"

He looks at me, pausing. Is that...hurt? What did I say?

"What do you remember, Buck?"

"I...your name is Steve Rogers. My name is Bucky Barnes. I live in a cage. I pulled you out of the river because you're my friend and you're important. There was someone named Howard Stark."

Steve exchanges a look with the other man, who I forgot was there. He's standing in the doorway, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

"Okay, Bucky. That's okay."


	4. Pain

"Okay, Bucky. That's okay." He says the words with such kindness, but I still feel like I did something wrong. The other man shifts and clears his throat.

"Alright then, I'm gonna head out," he says to Steve, who nods in response. When he turns to leave, however, Steve jumps and tells him to stop.

"I forgot-Bucky, this is Sam. Sam Wilson. He's a friend."

Sam gives a tight smile and starts to leave again, only to be interrupted again by me.

"Can you fly?"

He looks surprised, but covers it up quickly with cockiness. "Like a champ."

I nod several times, processing. A car door skids along the highway, three people clinging to it for dear life. I jump and turn to Steve. "I broke his car. You were in it and I broke it."

Steve looks down and answers, "Let's add that to the list of things you remember."

\---------------------------------

Sam must have left at some point, because it's just Steve and me. He shows me to a bedroom, shows me a couple of soft shirts and rough pants. Jeans.

"It's not much, but it should do for now." His hands are in his pockets, and he keeps looking at me with that little smile. It's nice to see.

I must've stared for too long, because he blushes a little and looks to the door, hands clasping together.

"Well-"

"Where are we?" I hadn't even thought of asking the question until now.

He looks at me for a moment. "Sam said earl-never mind. We're in a SHIELD safehouse." He chuckles a little, "Or what used to be a SHIELD safehouse. Now it's just...a safehouse."

I nod again, despite my lack of understanding. Something seems to click in his head, and he starts talking more. "I don't know how much you heard earlier, so I'll just recap, I guess. You were taken to a place called Stark Tower by people who used to work for SHIELD."

"SHIELD?"

He blinks, "Oh, right. Well it was a-"

"Never mind. Keep going."

"Okay. So they took you to Stark Tower, and had you in a cell there. Sam and I-you remember Sam?" His baby blue eyes look at me like I'm a child, but I can't be mad at the concern behind them.

"Yes. I remember Sam."

"Great. So Sam and I got you out of there, and the two of us are going to be staying here, in the safehouse, until we can find a more permanent place to put you."

"Where should we put him, sir?"

The German officer sneers and looks at my convulsing body with distaste. "I think Zola has a plan for the Yankee scum." He turns away without a second glance as a short little man comes up to me and pokes my tormented muscles.

"Yes, he is reacting quite well. Hold tight for a little longer, Soldier, and I've got a lovely place to keep you. Bit chilly, but you will adjust..."

I can barely hear him over the agony in my body and mind. They leave when I begin to scream, overcome by the neverending pain-

"Bucky? Buck, what happened?"

I'm on the floor, my head pulsating with excruciating pain. I try to tell him that I'm all right, but my reassurance comes out as a choked cry. Dimly, I feel strong arms wrap around me, soft hair tickling my pounding forehead. I continue to gasp through the agony as he murmurs words I can't hear in a comforting tone. The pain finally fades away and I slump down in his arms, exhausted to my core.

I can tell he wants to ask, but I bolt to my feet before he can. I rush to the kitchen, looking for something, anything, to write with. My gaze snags on a ballpoint pen, and I grab it as Steve looks on with panicked eyes. I hastily scratch out a message on my arm.

Zola. Experiment. Pain.

I underline pain 3 times, then pull my sleeve over my arm self-consciously. I muster up a shaky smile for Steve. "Just a flashback, nothing to worry about..."

He stares at me in disbelief. "Nothing to worry about? Bucky-"

"I'm going to bed, goodnight." I practically sprint into the bedroom, and I grab my chest tightly as soon as the door is shut. I change shakily, and climb into the bed. I try to take deep breaths, but they turn into sobs that rock me to sleep.


	5. Breakfast

"I'm going to bed, goodnight."

And just like that, he's gone. Even distracted and pained, Bucky moves silently. So different from the brash and loud friend I remember.

And that's okay.

I debate going in his room, but figure that he just needs a moment alone. That was scary though-his face turning instantly from normal to blank to agonized. Holding him afterwards felt right, felt soothing. Felt helpful. And...good.

It's awful to see him in pain, so of course it felt good to ease it. Obviously.

I realize I'm still on the floor and shake my head, standing. I spot the pen Bucky used to scribble a message on his arm so desperately, and put it away, frowning.

I'm not sure what to do, so I find myself putzing about the house, exploring the few mysteries it holds. A kitchen with a small table crammed next to it. A bathroom and utility room, adjacent. I'm glad we get to have a washing machine-it's a small luxury, but one I'm always grateful to have. Especially for Bucky-the few clothes I bought for him will be worn and sullied quick.

I smile at the thought of him in clean clothes, warm and fresh out of the dryer. Every time I've seen him since he fell off that train he's been covered in grime. I like the idea of cleaning him up, letting him be comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he can be.

It's so strange to see him this way. He's been the only thing I've had since childhood, and I know him better than I know myself. At least, I did. Now a stranger stands in the husk of my best friend.

That's not true, though. My best friend is within a stranger. I'll get him back. He has changed, but so have I. I can't be the person I was in the forties, and neither can he. In fact, it's remarkable-he's someone who can truly understand the pressure of trying to be the man who froze years ago. We have had vastly different experiences, but that's one thing that rings true for us both.

I smile again at that washing machine, grateful for the hope it gave me. A little unsettled by myself, I figure I'll follow Bucky's lead and go to bed early. Making my way to the bedroom next to his, I slide off my shoes and kick them into the corner of the kitchen. I'm sitting on my bed, taking off my socks when I hear the muffled cries from the other bedroom. I slowly get up, and press my hand to his door.

"I know, Stevie, I know."

The sobs shake my tiny frame, and I'm humiliated by them. I keep begging myself to stay composed for Bucky, who's rubbing my back calmingly.

"I'm s-sorry you h-have to-"

"I don't have to do anything, Steve. I'm with you til the end of the line, no matter where that line leads. You need me here, which is why I'll stay for as long as you want, and then some." His kind words make me cry harder, and he pulls me into his arms.

The line led us places I never thought I would go, Buck. But I'm staying on it with you.

I open the door, but Bucky doesn't move. I slink across the dark floor, pulling myself up onto his soft mattress. I touch his shoulder, and his muscles retract from my hand like it's a hot iron. I take a deep breath, and lie next to him, wrapping my arms around his tense body. He resists slightly at first, but melts into me after a moment. I stay there until his cries turn into deep and even breaths.

\-----------------------------------

When I wake up, the muscular form in my arms is gone. I sit up quickly, and look around, apprehensive. When I hear silence from outside the open bedroom door, I shift to full on panic.

I race to the main living area, scanning for a corpse or signs of a break-in. My mind is eased at the sight of Bucky sitting on the couch, sketching intently on a napkin with the pen he used last night. I sigh in relief, and the sound startles him out of his reverie. He quickly stuffs the napkin in his pocket.

"God, you scared me."

I chuckle nervously. "Didn't mean to."

There's a pause, then he clears his throat. "Last night..."

I wait for him to finish, almost hoping he didn't notice me come in. But of course he did, stupid, he came out of bed before you. He would've seen you lying there. "Sorry if I overstepped, Buck, I just didn't want-"

"No, no, thanks. I..." He blushes furiously. "Y'know, I kind of needed that."

I feel my cheeks turn rosy and I nod far too quickly. "No problem. No problem. How are you feeling now?"

He clears his throat. "Better. A lot better, actually. I couldn't remember much the last couple of days, but it's been coming back to me."

"You seem better. You're talking, at least. Showing emotion." I smile at him, cheeks still an embarrassing pink. I wish I could will them to go back to normal.

"Yeah, I think just being out of...nasty places...helped a lot. It was hard in the warehouse, but I had my notebooks...and in the cage I had nothing." He stares off into the air.

"The cage?"

"Uh, the cell. S...Stark Tower?" He looks to me for affirmation, and I beam back.

"Yep, Stark Tower. Hopefully when this all blows over I can show you around, the rest of it is pretty cool..."

I find myself rambling. I shock myself, but most of my giddiness comes from seeing the life on my friend's face. Nothing like he used to have, but something.

I finally stop myself. "Sorry, that went on for longer than I expected. Do you want me to make you some breakfast?"

His eyes glaze over, and a hand subconsciously goes to his head. "No," he murmurs, lost in his head.

"What? Bucky, ar-"

He looks up at me, eyes glinting with something I can't recognize. "No," he says again, "You can't cook. You tried to make me pancakes on my birthday, a little while after we got the apartment, but you broke the oven. It got so smoky...you felt awful. You wanted to start my day with a fun surprise, but instead I got a house fire. It wasn't too bad, though, and I got it under control pretty quickly."

A smile comes to his face, even though he's still clutching his head. I feel my eyes get misty, and I blink furiously. "Ok," I say, my voice cracking, "I won't make you breakfast."

"Could...could I make it?"

I'm quick to agree.

\------------------------------------

Sam had bought some basic groceries, but there's nothing fancy. I pull out some eggs, which Bucky promptly takes from my hands. I feel emotion radiating off of him-he feels like himself, just a little bit, and he wants to enjoy it. I sit down and watch him work.

He grabs a bowl and expertly cracks the eggs into it. He throws away the shells and starts whisking the eggs with a fork. I'm entranced by his hands, seeing them perform such a domestic task. It warms me.

He prepares the filling, chopping up peppers and ham. Yet again, I'm blown away. He's held so many knives before, but this may be the first time since he became the Winter Soldier that he's used one to do something good for someone else. He pours half of the eggs into the pan he had already heated up, and adds the filling after a moment, sprinkling in some cheese.

I keep watching him. I want to make conversation, but I can't think of anything but my joy. He smiles faintly when he flips the omelet perfectly, and I beam along with him, clutching my heart.

Finally they're done, and I help him carry plates, forks, and napkins to our little table. "This looks incredible," I enthuse. He smiles back.

I dig in, and recognize immediately just how bad of a chef I am. The eggs are cooked perfectly, encapsulating a delicious blend of melted cheese, crunchy peppers, and soft ham. A satisfied sound escapes my mouth, and I see Bucky's face light up. "Is it okay?" he asks.

"I swear to you, this is the best omelet I've ever had." He rolls his eyes, so I keep talking. "Seriously. Mine always end up as a mixture of fried and scrambled eggs with some assorted eats mixed in." He giggles a little, and I take a huge bite. "Dis is focking fantashtic," I say with my mouth full.

His giggle turns into full on laughter, and I join in without hesitation. We only laugh harder when my "focking fantashtic" omelet tumbles out of my mouth onto my plate. For the first time since I woke up in 2011, I feel like I'm home.


	6. Safe

"How long are you going to be here, Steve?"

He's looking right into my eyes, and it takes me a moment to respond. "Uh, I dunno. As long as it takes to find you a place in society, I guess. I'm not sure if we'll stay here until then or-"

"But...don't you have to be Captain America?" I can tell how focused he is on these questions, because his natural restlessness has vanished. He's practically a statue, staring at me intently.

Then it hits me. "You remember Captain America?"

He looks down. "The uniform you were wearing on the helicarrier. I didn't know it at first, but now that my memories are coming back..."

"What do you remember?"

"We were...there was the Howling Commandos. We were a team. You were in charge, but not really. We were friends. You had to wear the uniform and do all sorts of things that weren't war, and you hated it. You wanted to fight, protect the country. That's all you ever wanted, to protect people. Even when you were so little that you couldn't protect a fly. You'd try. You'd do anything you could."

It's the most I've heard him talk. He's embarrassed, and starts clearing the table to avoid looking at me. I let him, and try to fill the uncomfortable silence. "That's-that's right Bucky. We were a team. Honestly, you led them more than me. You were always so good with people, and they already knew you as their Sergeant. I might've been giving the orders, but they followed you."

He looks at me for a split second, then starts washing the dishes. What even got us talking about all this? Oh, right-

"But I'm not gonna be the Captain as long as you need me, Buck. You come first. I'm sticking here until we sort out this mess."

"Thank you," I hear, softly spoken over the din of the sink.

"No problem," I reply, getting up from my chair. It rumbles across the floor as I push it back under the table, and go to my bedroom to get dressed.

\-----------------------------------

"Have you had much time to catch up on what you've missed?" I ask, sitting with Bucky on the worn couch. "I know you had brief stints awake, but there's still a lot to learn."

He gives a dark chuckle. "I didn't have much time to catch a film or read a book when I wasn't serving time as a frozen steak. I probably know about as much as you did when you woke up."

It unnerves me a little to hear him talk about his past with any amount of humor, but I figure it's part of his path to accepting it. "Alright, where do we want to start? Entertainment, social advances, music, history, technology-?"

"I actually know some things about tech from HYDRA."

"The fact that you call it 'tech' kind of proves that point," I say, raising an eyebrow. "Natasha set me up with movies first, but I don't know if that's the best route..."

He shifts a little on the couch. "Um, can we actually start there? I know it's silly, but I'd like to get something a little light hearted."

"Of course! Light hearted, right. I'll find something cheesy, classic-" I stand up, but my sentence is interrupted swiftly.

"Find something good, Rogers. I'm not sitting through a shitshow." Once again, I'm astounded by a brief sighting of the Bucky I once knew. He's got that little smirk-smug as hell, but not unkind. I laugh a little.

"Yes, sir."

I finally settle on Star Wars: A New Hope. Classic, but not a shitshow. I turn off the lights and sit next to him on the couch as the iconic yellow script starts rolling across a star speckled background, music swelling.

I spend most of the movie watching Bucky. Not too much to be creepy, or anything, but enough that I can see the wonder in his stoic face. He may not show it, but I can tell that the marvelous advances in film-making are dazzling him just as much as they dazzled me. I smile to myself, imagining showing him something with better special effects than this 1977 treasure. It'll blow his goddamn mind.

The credits roll. He watches them anxiously, and I can see the question brewing in his face. Without a word, I pull up the next movie.

The Empire Strikes Back. We watch in silence, and with a jolt I realize that James Buchanan Barnes has never had one pivotal scene spoiled for him. Just as Natasha watched me, I watch him as I feel it coming up.

"Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father."

"He told me enough! He told me you killed him!"

"No. I am your father."

Bucky audibly gasps and turns to me. "No way," he pants, "There is no way in hell that Darth fucking Vader is Luke's dad."

I'm grinning ear to ear. "Oh, yes there is."

"Nuh-uh," he fumbles for the remote, and I pause the movie on Luke's agonized face. "Steve, it's a red heron. They're trying to distract us-"

"They're not. Luke Skywalker is Darth Vader's son."

He sits back for a moment, then turns to me again with a smile. "That's fucking brilliant."

I grin back. "I know."

We finish off the movie, and quickly throw together some sandwiches, Bucky giving me all of his opinions on what he's seen. Without discussing it, we sit back down and start watching Return of the Jedi, with a hell of a lot more commentary than before.

Bucky groaned when Yoda confirmed Lukes parentage, and I audibly laughed alongside him. We watch all six movies over the course of the next two days, Bucky engaged and ecstatic. I'm thrilled alongside him-I get to see my best friend again. Sam walks in during Padmé's funeral.

"Hey guys, sorry I'm la-"

Bucky and I shush him in unison. He's taken aback, and mumbles something under his breath as he sets two paper bags on the counter.

Sam tries several times to talk as the film continues, but Bucky and I cut him off every time. The somber ending gets no commentary, partially because of Sam's presence. The credits begin, and Sam raises his hand with a look that could fry an egg.

"Permission to speak, sir?" he says, lounging back in one of the wooden dining chairs.

"Permission granted," I reply. Smart-ass question deserves a smart-ass reply.

He rolls his eyes and stands, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. "First of all, have you guys just been watching Star Wars since I left?"

Bucky looks at me as he responds. "Pretty much, yeah."

He rolls his eyes. "Fuckin' nerds. I was gonna bring you guys lunch, but I almost ran into Clint. Wasn't sure if he was out looking for you guys too, so I had to work hard to avoid him. Hence my being late. But seeing as you weirdos have been glued to the screen all day..."

"We haven't eaten yet. Thanks for thinking of us, Sam. real nice of you." I open one of the bags he brought to find 5 cheeseburgers, still warm and wafting the sweet smell of obesity.

"Wasn't sure if he has the same ridiculous appetite as you," Sam explains, pulling fries out of the second bag, "so I figured I'd be safe. You're not a vegetarian, are you?" He looks to Bucky with mock concern.

It blows right over Bucky's head, as his eyes are glued to the American feast in front of him. "Not one bit."

"Cheeseburgers are a hell of a lot better than you remember, pal," I say, handing him two. "Trust me."

We wolf down our food, realizing after all the movies that we're famished. Sam looks on with disgust as Bucky and I house our two burgers before he finishes one. "Are all people born in the Great Depression perpetually starving? I don't remember my Gramps being so nasty."

I lean back and grin at him. "We weren't born in the Depression, Sam. We just know how to eat a meal when we come across one." I look to Bucky for affirmation, but his face has lost all the animation it had while we were watching Star Wars. He's looking at the table, fidgeting with the grooves of his metal hand. I feel my smile falter.

"All right, Cap. Good to know that your eating habits are even worse when you have someone to egg you on." He sighs and crumples up the wrapper his burger came in. "So there's a manhunt for you guys, obviously."

I'm startled at the abrupt change of subject, and he looks at me incredulously. "What? It's kind of a pressing matter, but I couldn't really bring it up while you two were attacking those poor burgers." I nod, and he continues, "Stark's gone a little batshit. They're looking everywhere for you guys, but this location is secure. Last I checked, he can't search a civilian household on a whim."

Bucky speaks up. "What is this place? Why is it secure?"

Sam glances at him, slightly irritated by his interjection. "It's my house. Well, my mom's, legally. She bought it for me when I was gonna go to college in the city, which didn't end up happening. We kept it though, I paid her back. I stay here when I'm in New York, and sometimes I let people from the VA crash if they really need a vacation."

"So as long as no one catches you coming in here, we're safe?" I ask.

He smirks back. "You're safe."


	7. Shit

Safe.

I'm safe.

God, it's been a while.

Steve and Sam keep talking, about Sam's life and his day. I'm still reeling. Safe.

I've been happy. Holy shit. It's been a while. Watching these movies with Steve, seeing storylines so different from the life I know, it's made me happy. Just being with Steve is making me happy, honestly. The only thing that would make it better is if he could've sat a little closer, maybe had his arm around me-

What?

"Earth to Bucky, you there pal?" Steve's lips are overrun by a small mischievous smile, and he snaps his fingers in front of my face.

"I'm here, Steve. Sorry, lost in thought."

Sam clears his throat. "I was just asking Steve what kinda stuff you want to stay entertained. Y'know, any books, movies..."

"Oh," I think for a moment, "I mean, I don't really know what I've missed, so I think that Steve should probably decide."

Steve grins at me. "That's what I thought, too, but I figured I'd check."

"Thanks."

"Any time."

Sam clears his throat again, louder this time. We both turn to face him as he gets up and starts gathering his things. "I've gotta get going. I'm meeting a friend downtown for dinner, and I wanna look nice for it."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "A friend? Not a gir-"

"Yes, Cap, a friend. Although hopefully a girlfriend, eventually." He winks and heads out. "Seeya, Gramps!"

The door slams behind him. Steve turns to me. "Ok. So we've got Star Wars down, what-"

"History. World War 2. I wanna know what happened after we..."

He smiles knowingly. "Of course. I wanted to know, too."

His smile sends butterflies into my stomach. It's so warm, and inviting...

Oh, no. This better not be what I think it is.

He goes over to the computer sitting in the corner of the living room, and beckons me over. I sit next to him, leaving a healthy amount of space.

"You can sit closer if you want, pal," He smirks, then becomes defensive. "Unless you don't want to, that's totally fine-"

I interrupt him by scooching my chair nearer to his. He beams, and I feel that warmth again. Shit, shit, shit.

He types in "World War 2" and we begin going over everything that happened. It's interesting to see what was going on at every front, but I keep getting distracted by Steve's face. It's so remarkably expressive, every new fact reflecting what he's thinking. I have to stop myself from touching it, feeling those furrowed eyebrows or uplifted lips for myself.

Shit.

I mean, he would never feel the same. Never! I'm broken, and a killer, and he's...he's gotta be straight. I mean, Peggy, for God's sake. He loved her. He will never love me. I just need to shut all this down before I start loving him.

He smiles at me again and I think it's a little bit too late.

Shit.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he says, "feel free to keep looking."

I skim through the things we already read, since I wasn't really paying attention. Don't want him asking questions I can't answer...

Bam. There it is. "Soldiers captured by the Nazi branch HYDRA were experimented on, and few survived without serious damage." A picture showing a metal table with straps on it. A metal table that I remember being strapped to.

"This won't hurt a bit, James," the man says, lowering a metal apparatus to my head with an evil grin. I gasp as the cold metal hits my feverish skin, and it clamps to my skull, uncomfortably tight. Then the pain begins. Stabbing, horrific pain, pushing a guttural scream out of my head. My eyes flash with black and white dots, and I feel my arms and legs cutting into the brutally tight straps with every movement of my body. I can't think, I can't anything, and it just goes on and on and on and on and

"BUCKY!"

on and on and

"BUCKY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

I shudder and a choking sound escapes my mouth. I fall to the ground, and strong arms catch me. My entire body is shaking, and it's quickly pulled into a crushing embrace. My mind flits between memory and reality, but the one constant is Steve's body. My face is pressed against his chest, and I focus on his familiar scent. Slowly, my heart rate lowers and he loosens up, pulling me away to focus his concerned face on mine.

"What happened, Bucky?" Although he asks a question, he says it like a command.

"N-nothing, nothing to worry-"

"No," he interrupts, "I respect your privacy, Buck. You know I do. You don't need to tell me everything that happened to you, even though I would listen to all of it if you wanted me to. But you're fucking important to me, and I need to know what I can do to help take care of you."

I close my eyes. "I'm not even worth-"

He takes my face into his hands and looks me dead in the eyes. "Stop. You are worth everything, Bucky Barnes. You took care of me all those years, right? You did it for a reason. I'm doing this for a reason, Buck."

I feel tears run down my cheeks. "I'm not the person I was, Steve. I...I'm broken. I'm not..." I can't bring my voice above a whisper. He looks at me with fierce kindness.

"I'm not the person I was, either. We're both pretty fucked up, at this point." He chuckles, and I smile a little. "But that doesn't mean that you aren't the most important person in my life, Bucky. That doesn't mean I won't do anything to help you. I'm different, sure, but that will never, ever change."

I look into his greenish blue eyes steadily, and take a deep breath. "It took them 20 years to make me forget you. Even then, I knew you were important, somehow. I don't care how different you are, Steve, you're still my everything."

His eyes water, and I feel my heart race as he bites his lower lip. "So you understand, then."

"I...I guess so."

He smiles a little and looks down, taking his hands off me to wipe his eyes. I smother my disappointment as he speaks, serious. "What happened, Bucky? Just now, and last night."

"I don't know. I just-it's like I see something, and I'm stuck inside a memory. Usually a bad one. And sometimes I'll remember something, and my head feels like it's about to split open, it hurts so bad."

He nods. "PTSD. I have it too. Those memories you can't escape, those are flashbacks. As for the pain in your head..." he thinks for a moment, "I don't know. It might be something related to what HYDRA did to you. I'll do some research, though, see if it can be caused by PTSD."

I nod, and he smiles at me weakly. "Thank you for sharing, Bucky. I know it's not easy."

An ache in my head, and I remember something. "You were the only person who called me Bucky."

"What?"

"Everyone called me James, only you called me Bucky. I wouldn't let anyone else."

He looks at me for a moment, expression unreadable. "Yes. I can tell the others to call you James, if you prefer-"

"No! No. No, I think...I think that Bucky Barnes is-I like it better than James."

"Ok."

We sit there for a moment. I feel ashamed for lying to him, but I can't very well tell him that I want to be called Bucky because I want to be the version of myself that he sees. That's too sappy, and...

And...

Shit.

And it would tip him off that I'm hopelessly in love with him.


	8. Erroneous

"I think I'm gonna take a shower, if that's okay?"

Bucky's big blue eyes still hold panic, and I hesitate at the thought of letting him out of my arms. Come on, Steve, if he needs to go you should let him. "Of course. You sure you're okay, Buck?"

He stands, releasing himself from our embrace. "Yeah, yeah. These...flashbacks...aren't fun, but they happen fairly often. I think a shower will help clear my head."

"Okay, whatever you need." He smiles and goes into the bathroom.

I pick myself off the floor and set myself into the leather desk chair I had abandoned. I'm so grateful that Bucky reached out to me, but I hate the thought of my best friend hurting like that. I wish there was something more I could do.

Just as the sound of the shower starts up, I feel a vibration in my pocket.

Sam  
That date was an absolute disaster, man. Hurricane Katrina level of disaster

Steve chuckled and leaned back in his chair, texting back his friend.

Steve  
Wouldn't expect anything less from you.  
Wanna talk about it?

Sam  
Nah  
Just sucked  
You got any girls on the horizon?

Steve  
Jesus I thought Nat was the only one trying to set me up

Sam  
Do you?

Steve  
No.

Steve started typing out his reasoning for not wanting a date, but Sam responded before him.

Sam  
You're going out with Sharon Carter tomorrow night. No excuses

Steve  
None?

Sam  
None.

Steve sighed and resigned himself to this.

The next day flew by. He and Bucky did some more, less triggering, history research, and caught up on music. Bucky was a big fan of the hits of the 80's. Steve wasn't too excited about it, but seeing Bucky bop along to the songs made him fall in love.

With the music.

The time flew by, and before he knew it Steve was driving downtown to meet Sharon. Sam had gotten them a reservation at a nice restaurant that had just opened up. Since Steve hadn't left the house in a few days, he took in the city surrounding him. He found himself wishing Bucky was there, so that he could point out everything of interest to someone who understood why it was interesting.

That building looks just like your old work!

That gym has a boxing ring in it, remember how you used to be so good at boxing? We could go sometime.

That lady's outfit is crazy, looks just like what we thought the future would be...

Steve was startled out of his daydreams by a honking car. He realized that he was a lot closer to the restaurant than he thought.

Here goes nothing, he thought, stepping through the glass doors.

The waiter took him to a table for two, where Sharon sat in a lovely blue dress. She stood and hugged him when he came over.

"Nice to see you again, Steve," she said, giving a warm smile. They sat, and engaged in polite chatter. Steve was a little unnerved, seeing a badass former SHIELD agent be so...bubbly. She was sweet, though. Real sweet.

They ordered, and when their food arrived, Steve was impressed. He would have to commend Sam for the choice of venue-it's hard to find a classy place that actually gives you an ample portion of food. When he told Sharon this, she leaned her head back and gave an exaggerated laugh.

As they dug in, Steve started to get uncomfortable. I mean, he liked Sharon well enough. She was funny, and strong, and easy to talk to. But...she was a good friend.

He started to think about Bucky again. As Sharon told a long winded story about a house-sitting gig gone wrong, he let his mind wander to the last few days. being stuck anywhere with Bucky never felt like being stuck. He had been having a blast so far. Although he was scarred and traumatized and a hell of a lot more awkward, Bucky was still Bucky. With every passing day, he gained a little bit more of himself. Or, the confidence to be himself.

Fingers snapped in front of him. Startled, he turned to Sharon, who was trying to hide her hurt expression. "Earth to the Captain, you there?"

Steve flushed and tried to defend himself. "So sorry, Sharon, just had a lot on my mind. Not your fault."

"A lot on your mind, huh?" She raised an eyebrow. "What's got you thinking?"

Steve cleared his throat and tried to think of an excuse. "Uh...Peggy, actually."

Sharon looked surprised. "Peggy?"

"Yeah. I just-I haven't visited her in a while, and I guess talking with you made me think of her."

Sharon nodded, and looked down at her empty plate. Dammit, Rogers, thinking about a girl you used to be sweet on is a lot worse than thinking about your best friend!

They were silent for a moment, when the waiter came with the check, relieving some of the tension.

"I've got the bill, Sharon, don't worry about it," Steve said quickly, reaching for his wallet. Sharon must've realized that there was no point with arguing that with a man raised in the 30's, because she let him give the server his card without a word said. When he turned back to Sharon, she was looking at him fondly.

"You're a really sweet guy, Rogers," she said, giving a genuine smile, "I sure am glad my aunt wasn't the only Carter who gets to know you."

Steve wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Uh, thank you. You're great too, Sharon."

She blushed and smiled, even though he hadn't meant to say anything super nice. The waiter came back with the check, and Steve stood up to leave.

"Would you want to go for a little walk? There's a really pretty park just a block away..."

She looked so hopeful. Even though he wanted nothing more than to go home, Steve's manners took over.

"Of course."

They meandered over, chatting idly arm in arm. It had been a while since Steve had something resembling a romantic relationship...about 70 years, to be exact. Sharon was sweet. She and Bucky would probably be friends.

Sharon was talking about work. Man, Steve wished Bucky could get a job. He was always such a hard worker, and Steve knew how guilty it feels to live off of someone else and not give anything in return. I mean, Steve obviously adored having Bucky around, but he didn't want Buck to feel like he was...imposing, or anything. There must be a way to help Bucky feel more at home, more safe-

"-Steve, and I know how important being Captain America is. I just..." she paused, and faced him. Steve panicked, trying to think of what she was saying. She continued obliviously, "I want you to know how grateful everyone is that you're back."

She leaned in, closed her eyes. Steve met her lips, and reciprocated slightly. She was beaming when she pulled away.

"I can't tell you how long I've waited to do that," she said. Steve wasn't sure how to respond. It's not like she was a bad kisser, that just didn't feel right, somehow. He managed a smile, and she gripped his muscular arm once again, continuing their walk.

Why didn't it feel right? Sharon was sweet. Easy to talk to. He wanted romance, why couldn't Sharon be enough?

He'd have to talk to Bucky, Bucky always knew what to do. Especially with romance. Except...the thought made Steve blush a little. Why? Bucky is his best friend, why can't he talk to him about...

Oh.

Oh.

Shit.


	9. Shame

Shit.

Shit.

That...I can't love Bucky. That's ridiculous. Bucky's my pal, my friend, not...

God, but he's beautiful. And kind, and generous, and an asshole with a heart of gold. He's the best. The actual best. I would do anything for him, anything at all.

And sure, I've thought about him...in that way. But it's not-I can't love him! No. No way, that's wrong and I know it, he know it, I've been dragged along to enough churches and participated in enough conversation to know that loving a man is wrong. Disgusting. So I should just give it up, ignore it all, hope it goes away, because I can't let Buck die for being the object of another man's affection.

But it's the 21 century, right? I mean, gay marriage is legal now, there's...

"Fucking fags!"

"Gonna run off to your boyfriend, Rogers? Bucky-bear gonna save your queer ass again?"

"Reynolds caught two fags kissing in an alley, taught em a lesson. They won't be sucking dick anymore, little shits."

"As God has proclaimed, man shall not lie with man. Though He does not condone violence, such heinous actions must be punished, and the Lord encourages the eradication of any and all men who disobey his creed..."

Though it breaks my heart, I know what I have to do.

"I had a great time tonight, Sharon."

"Me too!" Her soft cheeks are flushed from the chill brought about by night. "Would you like to do it again sometime?"

I force a smile. "Of course."

\----------------------------------------

I twist my key in the lock, my entire body feeling heavy. It's late, a lot later than I wanted to come home. I feel gross and wrong, but the shame of the night slips off my shoulders when I see Buck.

He's asleep on the couch, holding a copy of Romeo and Juliet. I smile at memories. He always had trouble reading books cover to cover, but for some strange reason he loved Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet was his favorite, and we used to read it and other plays together after we moved into our apartment.

I close the door quietly and sit next to him on the couch, gazing at his peaceful face. Now that I'm here, with him, I realize how inescapable my feelings are. Finally, I allow myself to admit it. I'm in love with Bucky Barnes. Hopelessly, desperately. It's terrifying, but accepting it brings a sort of peace.

Then the shame returns when I remember that I'm taking Sharon to the movies tomorrow.

I know it's okay. I know I could be with Bucky, receive minimal hate for it. But the voices in my head still scream, calling me slurs and forcing me to hide this love that feels so goddamn right.

I mark his page in the book, and gently pick him up bridal style. He sighs a bit, and settles into my arms. My heart melts as I slowly walk towards his bedroom, tucking soft blankets on top of his sleeping form. Cupping his cheek, I allow myself to place a chaste kiss on his forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Buck."

I love you.

I walk back to the living room and open up the book to where he was reading. Act 2, Scene 2. Friar Lawrence fears that Romeo sinfully slept with Rosaline. Romeo did not, and he explains to the Friar his undying love for Juliet. Though he can't profess it, he cares for the Capulet more than he ever did Rosaline.

Poor Rosaline. Poor Romeo. Poor Juliet.

Why does everyone have to die in a tragedy?


	10. Worthy

I wake up, not on the couch I remember. I was reading, waiting for Steve to come home...why am I in bed?

I'm trying to be supportive. Steve might not like me in that way, but he's still my friend. He still deserves kindness, and I still have to try and give it to him.

I stretch a little and get out of bed, plodding into the kitchen where Steve is waiting. He looks up and smiles strangely when I start rifling through the fridge.

"Morning, Buck," he says, putting down a book. Romeo and Juliet. Huh.

"Morning," I reply, moving onto the freezer. I land on..."Frozen waffles?" He smiles and gets up, standing next to me.

"They're fantastic, I'll show you how to make them."

He pulls the icy food out of plastic packaging, and I remember Sharon. "How was your date last night?"

His smile becomes microscopically more forced, but I can see the difference. "It was good, really good. I'm actually taking her to the movies today."

"Don't wanna watch 'em with me?" I mean for it to be a joke, but the honest pain behind my words shines through. He looks down, and I fumble to fix the damage done. "That's great, Stevie, I'm glad you had fun. You know, if I ever stop being a wanted criminal, I'd love to meet her."

"I think you'll be wanted for a while, Bucky," he murmurs to himself. He clears his throat. "I bet you'd like her. I hope I can introduce you sometime."

The waffles pop up out of the toaster, and I jump. Steve laughs and takes them out, setting them onto a paper plate. "You want anything on these? Syrup? Butter? Honey?"

"Um...I don't need anything, thanks."

"Syrup it is."

He drizzles on a generous helping, and sits with me as I dig in. "Did you have any flashbacks while I was gone?"

I did. "I didn't."

"That's awesome. I was worried to leave you, I don't want you to have to manage those on your own."

I raise an eyebrow and swallow a sticky bite of breakfast. "I've managed them thus far, Steve. I can get by on my own."

"The thing is, you don't have to." He tries to hide the sadness that overtakes him, but as always, I spot it. What did he remember? Why can't I remember it?

God, this is infuriating. I can't remember anything, I'm just leeching off of his good graces and giving nothing in return, fucking pathetic piece of-

"You alright, Bucky?"

Those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes are filled with concern again. I don't deserve him, I don't deserve any of him, I was stupid to fall in love with a man who should get so much more than me. "Why are you helping me, Steve?"

He's taken aback. "What?"

I set down my waffle, and actually start to feel tears brewing behind my eyes. "Why are you doing this? What could I possibly have done to earn everything you've given me? I'm just a broken, PTSD-suffering money guzzler who can't even begin to give you what you deserv-"

"No."

A single tear falls down my face, and I wipe it away quickly. "What?"

His lower lip trembles slightly, but the kind fire in his eyes negates any sense of vulnerability. "You deserve everything, Bucky. Don't you dare tell me that you're not worth it, because you are. I don't care if you never remember everything, I would be doing this even if you stayed the Winter Soldier for the rest of your goddamn life. You deserve the world, Bucky. You are and always have been the best man I've ever known, and no amount of damage can change that. I'm broken too, ba-Bucky. But you make me feel like I'm just a kid from Brooklyn, not some guy on a pedestal. I will do everything I can to make you see just how incredible you are. Because that is what you deserve."

Damn.

We're looking at each other, tears streaming out of two pairs of blue eyes. Even crying, he's beautiful.

He grabs the forgotten waffle off my plate. "I'm going to take a shower. Don't fucking forget what I said, because it's true."

I try to respond, but he's gone before the words can climb past the lump in my throat.

\---------------------------------------------------

"Call me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all."

"Will do," I reply, fixing the collar of his jacket. He smiles at me, and I return it fleetingly. "Any suggestions for shows I should watch while you're gone?"

He thinks for a moment. "Hmm...Back to the Future? I'd watch it with you, but I wasn't a huge fan."

"Sounds good. Have fun, Stevie."

"Take care of yourself."

And he's gone.

I watch his car leave the driveway, and stare at the suburban street for a little while after it drives away. It'd be nice to go outside, but I know that's just not possible.

Back to the Future. I pull it up, and start watching.

I wonder what Sharon looks like? She's probably really pretty. Steve would think she is, anyways.

He didn't talk about her all that much today, but it sounds like he really likes her. Which is great. I'm happy he's happy. He's done so much for me, he deserves to be happy.

Thinking about everything he said to me this morning fills my stomach with butterflies. God, I love him. But I'm glad that I can at least have him in my life as a friend. That's what we are. We're friends. Good friends. That's all. I don't need anything more.

Sharon. Yeah, I'm sure she's great. Of course she is! Why wouldn't she be. Why the fuck wouldn't she be.

Also, this movie is really weird. Why is Marty trying to fuck his mom? No wonder Steve didn't want to watch it with me.

I hear a key grate in the door, and my entire body is put on high alert. Steve's only been gone for about 45 minutes, he definitely isn't back yet. I pause the movie and rush to the kitchen, grabbing a knife.

The door creaks open, and I raise my weapon.

"Jesus, Bucky, the fuck are you doing?"

I drop the knife and blush, looking at my feet. "Sorry, Sam."

He shakes his head and closes the door behind him, collapsing on the couch. "Where's Steve?"

"Date."

Sam perks up, slinging an arm over the back of the couch to look at me. "Again? Didn't he go on one last night?"

I move to sit down next to him on the couch, so he doesn't have to contort his body to look at me. "Yeah, I guess he and Sharon really hit it off. He took her to the movies, left a little while ago."

Sam grins. "I knew it. I fucking knew it! I'm so happy for him, you know he hasn't seen anyone since he came out of the ice?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's pretty great." I'm glad Steve isn't here, because he'd be able to see through my painfully fake smile in an instant.

"I set him up just to set him up, you know, but I'm so glad it actually worked out. God, we've all wanted Steve to get a girl for a while, I'll have to text Tony and Nat they'll think this is great..."

As Sam continues to babble, I become acutely aware of just how alone I am. I mean, Steve's got a girl, he's got friends, what do I have? Steve. I have Steve, who will never love me as much as I love him. What's the fucking point of all this.

"...and I-Bucky? You with me, man?"

I snap myself out of my thoughts and look at his irritated face. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Sure," he rolls his eyes, "Not like I was saying any super important information you need to know, or anything."

"I got a pretty good idea of what you were saying, Sam. You're happy for Steve. I'm happy for Steve. We're all fucking happy."

"Damn, someone's pissy. I had actually moved on from that, and was telling you about the Avengers."

"The Avengers?"

"Oh, they're this group of Cap's friends, all s-"

"I know who the Avengers are. I was just surprised that you were talking about them right now." Does everyone think I know nothing at all? Sure, I don't have a lot of memories, but Steve's told me so much! I guess it makes sense that people would have such a low opinion of me, though. That's fine, I shouldn't be mad. God, I'm such an asshole, he was just trying to be nice, why would I-

"Well, Steve and I are able to talk to them now. They thought that we were involved with your capture-which we were, obviously, but now we've convinced them that we weren't. So Steve will probably be going to them a lot more to do missions and stuff."

He'll be gone even more than he is now? "Oh. Okay." Bucky, you fucking asshole, stop being so goddamn needy and just learn how to deal with your own shit, stupid-

"I guess if Steve isn't here, I'm gonna head out. Bye."

Bye, Sam.

I try to finish the movie after he leaves, but my self hating thoughts just intensify. I find myself getting off the couch.

Stupid, stupid, everyone hates you.

I walk into the bathroom.

You don't deserve to be alive, you fucking asshole.

I open the cabinet.

Steve hates you, everyone hates you, you're awful.

I pull out a razor.

Steve will never love you, you're disgusting for loving him.

I make the first cut, dragging sharp pain across my thigh.

Just fucking kill yourself already, no one wants you here.

Another one. Deeper.

Asshole.

Cut.

Stupid.

Cut.

Unworthy of love.

Cut.

Unworthy of everything.

Cut.

If you weren't so weak, you'd kill yourself.

Cut.

Coward.

I collapse onto the floor, feeling completely, utterly empty.


	11. Decapitations

I'm empty. Aching. I decide against finishing the movie, and just wearily decide to clean up myself and the bathroom. I get started on spraying down the kitchen counter when the front door announces a visitor once again. Steve steps in, a beautiful smile on his face.

"Hey Buck!" he says cheerfully, "I brought you back some popcorn."

"Thanks, Steve, you didn't have to do that," I reply wearily.

He notices my exhaustion. "You alright, Bucky?"

I slap on a smile and pray he's too dazed by Sharon to see through it. "Yep, just tired."

"Buck," he raises an eyebrow, "You can always tell me when you have a flashback. Always. I don't care what the hell I'm doing, you tell me."

Oh, of course he isn't thinking about self harm. Why would he be? He assumes I'm better than that. "Sorry, Steve. I just uh...figured I could handle it."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Come on, Bucky, think of a traumatic memory! It's moments like these that amnesia is really a bitch. "Umm...I was just-it was from in the beginning. In the earlier years of when they had me. I was...I couldn't remember you. Twenty years of you sticking in my mind, and for the first time I couldn't think of who you were. I knew you were important, incredibly important, but I didn't know why.

"It was horrible, because I knew somewhere inside of myself that I still had these memories, but they were just out of reach. I couldn't stop crying, the agony of having you so close but unreachable was worse than any torture they ever put me through."

Bucky looked up to see tears in his bab-friend's eyes. "Shit, Steve, I'm sorr-"

"No," he said, "No apologies. I'm crying because I lo-care about you so goddamn much, and I hate to think of you hurting like that. I know you're strong, Bucky. Never apologize for having weak moments."

Yeah, that's nice, but did this boy almost say he loved me? No, that can't-no. Even if he did love me-which he doesn't!-it would be platonic. 'Cause we're pals, Steven and I, best of pals 'til the end of the line. And I'm just fine with that.

"Thank you, Steve," I reply. Dammit, that's the second time today he's had to give some speech about how much I mean to him! Come on, Bucky, lighten the mood. This is getting too angsty.

"So how was your date?" I ask.

"Good!" he shifts a little in his seat. He's shooting off some weird vibes I can't identify. "We saw some horror movie, you would have hated it. So many decapitations."

I stalk the man, blade in my hand. His screams fill my ears as I-

nOPE. Not today, demons. "Wow. Did Sharon like it?"

He looks at me a little oddly, but doesn't address my brief vacation from this conversation. "Uh, yeah, I think so. She's not really a movie talker, and we were-we didn't talk a lot about the movie afterwards."

Oh. They probably fucked.

Haha, that's fine. I'm completely fine with that fucking bullshit.

"Cool. Awesome. Have you told the rest of the team about her?"

"Sam did. They're...to say that they're supportive would be an understatement. My phone's been blowing up, they keep begging for details and asking me when the wedding is."

Ouch. Oh God, that hurts. "That's incredible, Steve. I'm so happy for you."

He glances at me quickly and gives a small smile. "Yeah. It's uh...pretty great. It's great." A silence falls.

Come on, Bucky, what else can you do to lighten the mood? "Umm...do you want to watch a movie or something? Never mind, you literally just came back from the movies. Uh, we don't have to do anything. Sorry."

"You know, there's other things to do than watch movies," he says. Not a trace of sarcasm. God, he really does understand how hard this is. I have to love him for it.

"Like what?" I ask.

"Wanna play Mario-Kart? It's this racing game, I think you'd like it. The team plays it all the time, maybe you could join once they stop being judgmental assholes."

"Sure, Stevie, sounds great."

He gets the game set up and shows me the controls. I decide to play as some thing named Yoshi, and Steve chooses Diddy Kong. We both pick bikes, even though Steve tells me they're harder to control. Hate to say it, but I'd rather die than be caught zooming around in some pathetic little golf cart. At least a bike has style.

I'm terrible at the game, but so is Steve. I finish in last place every race, except the last. Steve had ended up in 6th place, and he watched me race to the finish line alongside King Boo and Princess Peach. I end up in 10th place, and he cheers, slapping my thigh goodnaturedly.

I hiss and drop the controller, clutching my wounded leg. "Bucky?" he asks frantically, "What's wrong? What hurts?"

"Nothing," I groan, "Don't worry about it, please, it's nothing."

His eyes, though showing kind concern, harden with resolve. "Show me."

"No."

He leans back and covers his eyes with his hand, any anger evaporated. "Come on, Buck, please just show me."

"Steve, I can't," I beg. How could I show pain like that? How could I be so weak? Now there's one more thing I'm forcing him to deal with.

He uncovers his face and looks at me with fire in his eyes. "You cannot keep hiding when you're hurting, Bucky. I don't care if you dropped a glass or something, I'm not going to be mad no matter what you do. Just let me help you fix it, okay?"

He...doesn't know it's self harm. Which means that he's going to keep pushing this.

Slightly embarrassed, I loosen the waistband of my sweatpants and pull them down, letting them pool around my ankles. I hear a sharp gasp come from Steve, and he stares at the fresh cuts on my legs. My quick healing made them a little better than before, but the damage I did to myself is clear.

Without asking, he lightly grazes his fingers over the wounds. Don't get hard, don't get hard, don't get hard-

"Bucky," he whispers, face agonizingly close to mine, "Don't hurt yourself. Please, God, I don't know what to say here. Don't hurt my Bucky. Please don't hurt yourself."

His beautiful eyes stare into mine, and our lips are close together. Without a second thought, I close the distance between them.


	12. Glorious

Holy shit he's kissing me.

Oh shit, oh shit goddamn it I'll kiss him the hell back but FUCK, he's kissing me.

My fingers lace into Bucky's hair by instinct and I pull him closer, as our lips meld together. I've seen hell in my life, but good God I think I'm in heaven.

He pulls away after a dreamily long moment. I open my mouth to speak, but he places a hand over my lips. The lips he was just kissing, oh fuck goddamn it-

"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, you're with Sharon and I-" I cut him off by ripping his hand away and pinning him to the couch, our mouths meeting in a frenzy. I can't touch enough of him, my hands roaming his chest and back and the rest of my frame jammed against his. I fear for a moment that I'm being too forward, that he doesn't want this, but his hands pulling my hair and a noticeable bulge rubbing against my thigh proves otherwise. I grin against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to slip in his tongue.

My entire body feels like it's on fire, everything is Bucky. All the wrongness I felt kissing Sharon makes so much sense now-it's him. It's always been him.

I pull away with a gasp, and cup his cheek. Looking into his beautiful, stormy blue eyes, I say, "I love you."

Those eyes get a little misty and crinkle into a winning, crooked smile. "I love you too, Stevie."

And with that we're at it again, unable to stop. I'm practically lying on top of him, squeezing any part of him I can reach. My hands grasp his hips, and he lets out a small noise of pleasure as I roughly pull him even closer to me. Then my fingers brush against the cuts on his thighs.

I stop immediately, sitting up. He looks at me with concern and fear, and I run my hands through his hair to try and soothe him. "Sorry, Buck, it's not you. I mean-I-your legs, baby."

He glances down at the angry red marks buried into his glorious thighs. "Oh," he says, leaning back and crossing his arms self consciously. I take his hands gently.

"It's okay, Bucky. I...I understand firsthand how hard it is to resist those urges."

His eyes widen. "You do?"

I nod and put an arm around him. He settles onto my chest and it feels like the last puzzle piece being placed. Like Bucky and only Bucky was meant to rest there.

"After I woke up from the ice...I mean, I had just lost you, Buck. And I loved you then, too. I couldn't accept or understand it, but I loved you. Everything was new and different and I, uh, I got pretty depressed. I started feeling like I should hurt myself."

"Did you?"

"No," I say, almost guilty that I can't relate to him on this level.

He sighs, "Oh, good," and any guilt vanishes. He doesn't want me to hurt, just as I don't want him to.

"I know it's not the same," I continue, "But I understand where you're coming from, Buck. But I can't-I can't bear the thought of you hurting yourself. I love you, Bucky, and all I want, more than anything, is for you to be safe and happy."

He lifts himself off my chest slightly to look at me. "Thank you,"

I give a small smile and a lingering kiss, much sweeter than the fire we shared earlier. This kiss is just love, pure and trusting.

"So you're not mad?" he asks after we part.

"No, of course not," I respond, "The only thing I would be mad about is that you didn't tell me, but that's understandable, I guess."

"It's not that I don't trust you," he says quickly, "I just...Sharon. It drives-drove-me nuts thinking about you two together. Not that this is your fault, or anything, that just sent me over the edge along with the whole 'super-traumatized super-soldier' thing."

Oh shit, Sharon. "That makes sense. And I know you trust me, jerk. Trust me, I know."

He grins and punches my arm playfully. I catch his arm and kiss his palm. "But uh...Sharon."

Bucky's stormy eyes darken a bit, and he looks down. "Right. I-I understand if you want to be with her, that's-"

I cut him off with a kiss. "No, Buck. I love you. Sharon's nice and all, but she could never come close to the incredible person that is Bucky Barnes." He blushes, and I touch the red skin of his cheek. Now that I'm allowed to touch him, I can't stop. "I just...I hope you understand, but I don't think that I'm okay with us being a public thing. I love you so fucking much, Bucky, don't get me wrong, but-"

"No, me neither," he interrupts, "Do you get the voices in your head? The ones telling you that it's a disease, that if you don't hide these feelings away everyone around you will hate you?"

Dear Lord, he understands. "Yes. When I realized I cared for you in-that-way, they were going nuts. That's why I didn't tell you, along with other reasons."

"What other reasons?" He's looking at me with an adorably innocent face, and I kiss it swiftly before I continue.

"Just...I don't know. You're still getting your memories back-"

"I've recovered a ton, though," he interjects, "It hurts and it's scary, but I can remember almost everything now."

"Wait, really?" How did he not tell me this?

"Yeah..." He looks slightly ashamed. "I guess I've just felt a little...distant...since we've gotten here. I dunno, I just couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't enough, that I was a burden."

"You're not-"

"I know," he says, looking deep into my eyes, "God, Steve, for the first time since 1945 I feel like myself. Not a puppet, or a problem, but me."

I'm at a loss for words, and he seems to understand, pulling our faces together in another mind-melting kiss. I only kissed him for the first time about fifteen minutes ago, but goddamn I could do this all day. I don't think I'll ever get tired of the feeling of Bucky's lips on mine.

He pulls away again, and I can tell he's got something on his mind. I wait to let him find his words-I know that they're a little hard to come by these days.

"I love you, Stevie. You're...you're my everything, doll." I settle my face into the crook of his neck at this, and he chuckles and continues. "I know I'm a wanted man-"

"I'll say so," I mumble, kissing his neck slowly with purpose.

"Hush, Rogers," he says with mock anger, pushing my chest and pulling me off of his skin. I pout, and he smooths the lines of my face into a smile to match his. "Look-I'm on the wrong side of the law right now. I know it's risky, but-could we go on a date? A real one? God, Stevie, you know I'd stay here with you for forever if it meant we could-"

"If it meant you could fuck me into the mattress so hard I can't walk the next day?" Making out with him made me just a teeny bit aroused, and it's hard to think with my brain instead of my...you know.

He rolls his eyes. "Well I was going to say cuddle, but yeah, that works. That would be great-don't interrupt!-but I'd like to go out, if we can."

How can I say no to that pretty face and prettier soul? "Of course, Buck, we'll just have to be careful."

"Careful is my middle name, right after Dumbass and Gay."

I laugh heartily and press a kiss to his mouth. God, I love this man.


	13. Ease

It's been a while since I've been able to have...normal. Being Captain America doesn't leave a lot of room for silly jokes and carousels, grocery shopping and joy. I think that's why I love Bucky so much.

Even as a recovering brainwashed assassin, he makes me feel like I can just be Steve, the kid from Brooklyn. No matter how much I change in life, I will always be the Steve that he carried around and patched up. And if I'm being honest, Bucky is the only person left who sees that part of me. So of course I'll give him a normal date, a normal life, because he's given that to me. He's given everything, the least I can do is take him out of the house.

I find myself stressing over my outfit. I'm in my bedroom, unable to decide between a plaid button down or a T-shirt. I feel his arms wrap around me, and I lean back into his embrace. "Which one?" I ask, eventually pulling away and holding up the clothes. He thinks for a moment, then leaves the room. I'm confused, but he comes back with one of his T-shirts.

"All your shirts are about three sizes too small," he explains, pulling the garment over my head, "Not that I'm complaining. However, if we're going for anonymity, you might want to wear something a little more baggy to hide...this." He runs his hands over my torso and bestows a chaste kiss to my lips. I smile, and he makes his way into the kitchen.

Once we're ready to go, wearing baseball caps and sunglasses, Bucky and I head to my car that waits in the driveway. I move to start the vehicle, but hesitate. "Seatbelt, Buck," I say. He smirks and clicks the restraint into place.

"Sorry, not used to wearing one," he says.

I smile and turn my key in the ignition, initiating a rumble. "All good, doll."

I drive slowly, sneaking glances at his face as we meander through suburban roads. I don't even know where we're going, but i make no move to ask him what he wants to do. Bucky's awestruck face reminds me that he hasn't been outside since we brought him to the safe house, and I don't want to interrupt the gazing he's currently doing. After about ten minutes of tooling around the city, however, he tears his eyes away from the window and turns to me.

"What do you want to do, Stevie?" he asks, giving one of his casual smiles that make my heart soar.

"Well," I say, clearing my throat, "We probably shouldn't do anything too public, to avoid being recognized. I'm just trying to think of what new stuff the 21st century has to offer..."

"We don't have to do anything fancy, baby. Honestly, I'm just glad to be out of the house."

I think for a moment, then realize that we're fairly close to Central Park. "I've got an idea."

I park the car near an ice cream stand. "What the FUCK is that?" Bucky asks, pointing to a popsicle that's supposed to look like Spongebob but actually looks like the demonic objectification of a murderous clown. I let out a belly laugh at his outraged expression.

"That's ice cream, Buck," I explain. He looks at the yellow abomination again then turns to me with disbelief.

"That is Satan, Steven. Buy me one."

After purchasing two horrific popsicles (which are surprisingly delicious), we meander through the wooded paths of Central Park, talking about everything and nothing. I grasp his metal hand after a little while, and he looks at me with pure happiness. Not euphoria, or lust, or anything intense-just the content glance of a man who has found joy a small pocket of the world.

We walk for hours, hand in hand, stopping whenever Bucky sees a pretty flower or I spot a bench. We talk about past horrors, future hopes, and every little thing in between. Although I've already been reacquainted with Bucky, this casual stroll is another reminder of just how much I missed him. It's unbelievable to me that I went 70 years without the face he makes when he's trying to remember something, or the light in his eyes when he talks about something he cares about.

We finally decide to head back to the car, but I drag him elsewhere when a nearby farmer's market catches my eye. Though confused, Bucky lets me lead him through a sea of tented stalls without any questions or protests. Finally, I spot what I was looking for, and he gives me that loving look again.

We head back to the car, and make another pit stop at a grocery store before finally headed home. I set our purchases on the counter he stands behind once we arrive, and sit at the stool.

"What, you're not going to help?" he says playfully, unloading fruit and pie dough from the plastic bags.

I smirk and lean back, hooking my feet to the rungs of the chair like a child. "If I help you with anything in the kitchen, Bucky, we will both die of electrocution and/or burns within minutes." I frown, realizing something. "Unless you don't remember the recipe, or how to use any appliances, because I can definitely-"

"At ease, soldier," he says with a teasing smile, "I could never forget Sarah Rogers' recipe for plum pie. Trust me."

I relax and rest my elbows on the counter, cradling my head in my hands. He winks and starts cooking.

A comfortable silence ensues, one neither of us feels the need to fill. I've always loved watching him in the kitchen, seeing the mask he subconsciously wears slide away, seeing his concentration and care visible on his chiseled features. Conversation is unnecessary-we're both engrossed.

When he puts the pie in the oven, he gives another wink and pulls his muscular body up onto the counter, letting his feet dangle over the edge.

We couldn't afford to have dessert too often, but when we did, Ma made it count. It's a Friday afternoon, the last day of school. Escaping the humid June weather, Buck drags my thin frame along the Brooklyn streets, hoping that Sarah hasn't started baking yet. He always likes to help, feel like he's earned the slice of pie the Rogers' insist he takes.

Per the usual, I patiently wait while they whisk up a masterpiece. The best part is yet to come, however, and I'm fidgeting with impatience until they FINALLY put the pie in the oven. Leaping up from my seat, I wiggle my way up onto the counter. Bucky laughs and soon follows.

Ma, knowing how much her boys love the pie filling, always makes a little extra for us to enjoy while we wait for the pie to cook. Giggling at the sight of us kicking our short legs, she sets the bowl between the two of us and leaves the kitchen to let us enjoy.

Though the filling is incredibly sticky, we eat it with our hands per the usual. We've got this activity down to a science, wordlessly divvying up the amount of filling we each get. Bucky lets me have a little bit extra, though I always protest and insist that he takes it. Something about his pleading face always makes me cave, though, and I eat the sweet dessert with minimal complaint.

He grins at me, and I laugh at the plums left in his teeth. He smacks me lightly and I guide his hand to show him where they are. Although he could just look in a mirror, neither of us ever strays from the traditions we have involving the sacred consumption of plum pie. They're almost better than the dessert itself.

I almost tear up at the memory, and I join Bucky on the counter. He separates the filling in the bowl wordlessly.

"Oh, c'mon Buck! Take more than that!"

He just shakes his head, smiling at me. He takes a scoop of the filling and shoves it into his mouth, giving me a wide, close-lipped grin. I roll my eyes at his antics and take some for myself, closing my eyes as the familiar taste brings back memories. I smile wider when a soft hand caressing my face reminds me that plum pie is so much better now than it ever was. I gaze at that beautiful, selfless face again. Fine. If Bucky won't take more filling for himself, I'll just have to make him. I seal my lips to his with a stubborn but loving finality.

Yeah, plum pie is definitely better than I remember.


	14. Heartbeats

Happiness is something precious. It's one of the most underrated things in life, really. I spent seventy years brainwashed, a mindless puppet. There's no space for joy there.

Even when I wasn't shackled by the Soldier any longer, even when I started to rehabilitate and remember, happiness was still out of my reach. Because pain, true pain, never really goes away. It lingers, lurking in every quiet room and filling midnights with the piercing screams of nightmares. When you hurt, when you really hurt, that pain sticks with you.

Happiness is precious. And I've found it. I've found it in this blessing of a man, who doesn't care about my problems or past. This man, who does nothing but love unconditionally. This man, who I know I will always love unconditionally.

The pie we made (I made) is finally done, and I pull it out of the oven with a whoosh of hot air. I set it out to cool, and hear Steve start speaking. "So, what now?"

I turn, and see a sweet little smile on his face. "Hm..." I hum, sauntering over and setting down the oven mitt. That smile turns slightly wicked as I grab the nape of his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss punctuated by heavy groping and soft moans. The kiss intensifies, and I can tell that my pie will be practically frigid by the time we're through.

I'm lost in him, in his soft lips and strong hands, and-

"-the fuck?"

Steve rips his face away from mine, turning a terrified face towards Sam Wilson, who stands shocked in the doorway.

"Whatcha doin', Barnes, runnin' off to wittle Stevie? He gonna try to convince you that you're not diseased?"

Steve lets out a slightly choked breath, and Sam quickly recognizes his terror, eyes widening as he babbles. "No, God, no, Steve, you're okay. It's okay. I don't mind, Steve, it's okay." Steve doesn't seem to be mollified, and my right hand, still resting on his neck, feels his palpitating heart.

"James, if you ever see any of those fags, you show 'em what's what. No pansies should be allowed to live, boy, you hear me?"

"Steve, I promise you, it's okay. I don't care at all, I don't. You're safe." Steve looks down, and back at Sam, who's taken on a soft tone I've never heard before. Quickly realizing how much Steve needs me, I lift his chin and smile at him weakly.

"It's okay, Stevie-"

"It's disgusting!"

"You're safe-"

"You deserve to die!"

"No one is going to hurt you."

"A world of pain for sinners!"

Warring with the voices of my past, I try to stay strong for him, comfort him. It seems to work, because I feel his heartbeat settle into a normal pace, and he offers a sheepish look to the Falcon, who still stands frozen in the doorway of our home.

"Uh...heeeeey, Sam," he says, cracking a nervous smile. Sam almost looks like he wants to laugh, but he reins it in, stepping forward to give Steve a strong, one-armed hug.

"Hey, Steve."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

We rest on the couch after that, sharing with Sam what we've discovered in the hours spent together. Keeping it PG, of course. I don't think Steve could handle sharing anything about his sex life to anyone, which is irritatingly charming. Dude's got a big dick, what if I want to talk about it? Is that really so taboo?

Anyways.

Steve has calmed down considerably, though he still has a firm grip on my metal hand. I'm happy to give him the lifeline. If we're being honest, it's helpful for me too.

Sam is ridiculously accepting. He isn't even acting like himself, nodding slowly and giving encouraging smiles several times a second. I guess this must be the therapist side of him. Makes sense. Although I have to say, I like the bitchy Sam better.

After talking through everything, we decide to watch a movie. Sam picks it out...some cowboy movie. Though I've never been a big fan of Westerns, I snuggle up against Steve and make no fuss. I mean, Sam shut down the voices in my head, the least I can do is let him pick a movie.

When Jack and Ennis kiss, I realize why Sam chose Brokeback Mountain for our friendly little movie night. He wears a shit eating grin, and I smack him with a pillow. Steve hushes us quickly, though, apparently invested in this. Not gonna lie, though, gay cowboys are the shit.

By the end of the movie, I both love and hate Sam. Why did he have to make me love this goddamn movie, of all things? I already have a gay Captain, why do I need some gay cowboys, too? I notice Steve wiping away a tear, and I giggle a little, nuzzling my head into the crook of his neck. He sighs, and rests his head on the back of the couch.

"I'm fucking brilliant," Sam says, the first words spoken since the movie was turned on. I turn to him, making sure he can see my overdone eyeroll, then cuddle back up against Steve.

"Nice choice, Sam," Steve replies, "It was actually a really good movie, though."

"Damn straight. Wait, no, damn g-"

"Don't even finish that sentence," I say, voice muffled against Steve. I feel his chest shake, as he tries to hold back his laughter. "I fucking hate you, Rogers. You too, Wilson. God."

This only makes the both of them start laughing out loud, and I'm can't help myself from joining in. Sitting here, casually showing affection to the love of my life, it feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I can breathe, knowing that I have at least one person who will still tolerate me despite my sexuality. And that feels pretty damn good.


	15. Cherry

Look, it's rare when I think that Steve is hiding something from me. So when I do get a little feeling that he is, I don't take it lightly. Why would I? He's my person, and I trust him more than anything. If I have reason to believe that I can't trust him, I have reason to be concerned.

Ever since Sam found out about the whole "gay lovers" deal a few days ago, things have been great. Lots of sex, lots of movies, lots of feeling like I have a place in the world. But then Steve will look down at his phone and frown, breezing over it with a fake smile when I ask him what's wrong. That isn't normal.

And the outings, too. Obviously, he can leave the house whenever he wants, and I don't care that he does. But he's been vague about where he goes the last few days, and is gone for a lot longer than I would expect for "an errand" or "a drive". It's weird, and it isn't like him.

Now, I could confront him respectfully, but that solution is way too healthy and effective for Bucky Barnes. So, like the stupid piece of shit I am, I decide to go into his phone and see what's up.

Waking up on the sixth day after Sam discovered our secret, I pull Steve's arm off of me and sit up, stretching. Sparing a glance for his beautiful face, I'm struck by a wave of warmth quickly overtaken by despondence. He's truly remarkable, I can't look at him without being astounded, but the idea that he's keeping things from me makes me profoundly sad.

I stand, and spot his phone sitting on the bedside table. Making sure Steve is still sleeping soundly, I grab it and silently make my way to the living room, curling up on our armchair.

I flick open the phone, and see a picture of us back in the 40's as the lock screen. Steve has his arm around me, grinning face telling me

"These films are dumb, but they're the army's way of keeping the public invested in the war effort,"

I look at his tall form with a disbelieving look, still not used to being able to look him in the eyes. "You really think that running around pretending to shoot Nazis is going to win this fight?" I ask him, and he just rolls his eyes in return.

"I don't," he says, crossing to the wall of the studio where his shield rests, "But I do think that this is a whole lot better than being a chorus girl." He slings the shield on his arm, and gives another grin. "Coming, Buck?"

With a face like that, how can I resist.

Jolting out of the memory, I scramble for a notebook. Though most of my memories have returned by now, I still gain new ones occasionally. Scribbling to get the pen working, I write out: "War films. We had to do them. Steve didn't hate them as much as me."

I set down the pen, and put the notebook in its spot. It's one of the many we have stashed around the house should a moment like this arrive and I need one. I sit for a moment, lost in thought, until I remember what I was doing. After staring at his lock screen a little longer, I enter Steve's password, my birthday, and am allowed access to the device.

He doesn't have much on here, just the usual communication apps and whatnot. I open messages, and my blood boils when I see the first name to pop up.

Sharon Carter.

I click on her name, and scroll to see an endless number of messages.

"Hey there, you free on Tuesday night? ;)"

"You look so cute in that pic"

"I'm so lucky to have you 😍"

"See you soon baby <3"

I torture myself, reading through all of them, feeling my heart break with every loving comment and adorable joke. Finally I stop, setting down the phone and crossing my arms tightly. Though I feel like a child, I feel hurt and angry tears brim as I brood on the chair, waiting for Steve to come out.

He finally does after what feels like a lifetime, and his sleepy grin goes away quick when he sees my face. "What's wrong, doll?"

I roll my eyes at the pet name, and look away. It's immature, but I don't even want to answer him. I try to collect myself and turn back to him, a few tears escaping my eyes as I give him an involuntarily bereaved look. "When were you going to tell my about Sharon, Steve?" It comes out more as a statement than a question, and his face falls further when the words escape my mouth.

"I can explain-"

"Explain what?" The anger overtakes my devastation and I feel myself standing up, hear my voice take on a cracking and enraged tone. "Explain that I'm not enough? That you needed a little extra on the side?"

His eyes widen further than I've ever seen them go before. "Of course not-"

"Or am I the side piece? Am I the cherry on top of your Sharon pie, the one you put on for garnish even though she's the one you really want?"

"Bucky-"

"Or-shit," It hits me hard, and my hand drifts to my gut that feels like it's been punched. "Or do you not even want me at all? I mean, you're forced to stay with me, to deal with my shit, and I'm the one who kissed you, so you had to reciprocate-"

"Bucky, stop," Steve says, tears now streaming down his cheeks. He moves to come comfort me, but holds himself back. "I-I'm so sorry, but I love you. Bucky, I love you so fucking much. Please, I-I should've told you."

"Told me what, goddammit!" The rage is back, and he flinches when I practically roar at him.

"I..." He looks down, seemingly at a loss for words. "I'm pretending to date her. I mean, no one knew I was pretending except me, but I just...I love you, Buck. I love you. And the thought of someone finding out, hurting you-" His voice cracks, and he squints his eyes shut as they spew more tears than ever. "I needed a way to hide it better, to make it seem even more like I'm the 'straight as a ruler' Cap that everyone knows."

With an explanation, I'm slightly mollified, but a little anger still bites my voice when it asks, "But why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," he whispers, "I guess I was embarrassed? I felt so bad about it, I didn't want to make you ashamed of me, that I'm so insecure that I can't even..."

He trails off, and my heart is struck by a desperate need to help him. I cross the living room and drape my arms around him, letting rest his head on my shoulder.

"You never need to hide things from me," I murmur, rubbing his back and rocking slightly as he cries into my neck, "Never, Stevie. I will always support you, no matter how silly or stupid your needs may seem. 'Til the end of the line, remember? Through anything, I'm with you. I'm stickin' with you, baby."

We stay there for a little longer, until he finally pulls back and looks at me with puffy eyes and a blotchy face. "I'll break up with her-"

"No."

"What?"

"No," I say, forcing a little smile and cupping his cheek, smiling more genuinely when he closes his eyes and leans into my touch, "The voices in your head are meaner than mine. And I can't hear them, darling, but I know that if you get rid of Sharon, they're gonna tell you some ugly things. Don't get me wrong, I don't like it-"

He chuckles weakly, and I touch his smile lightly with my thumb, "But until we get those voices under control, until we get you feeling like you can be yourself around other people, you can keep 'dating' her. And to deal with my insecurities, you can show me how much you love me in bed. I'm thinking shower sex, for starters."

He lets out a deep belly laugh, and looks at me with shining eyes. "I love you, Bucky."

"I know." Though it still irks me that he hid this from me, a soft kiss makes the worries slide away.


	16. Indications

My phone pings, but I ignore it, drawing Bucky ever closer to me. I can't get enough of him, now that I don't have a secret looming over my head. There's nothing stopping me from-

My phone pings again, and I groan, both in irritation and pleasure. I reach to silence the damn thing, God knows I can't have anything distracting me from how Bucky is-

It pings once more, and I let out a growl of frustration, snatching it quickly and silencing it, earning a laugh from the man on top of me. The laughter is short lived, however, because the vibration released from his joy does some very interesting things to the way our bodies are connected. I don't even think about those notifications until hours later, lying on the bed while Bucky takes a shower.

I grab the device, and see an overwhelming number of texts from Sam. I smile at the contact name that Bucky changed, but that's soon lost when I realize why he was spamming me.

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
Dude Tony stark called me

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
As in tONY sTARK

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
He wants to apologize to you

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
As in aPOLOGIZE to yOU

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
Only prob is he thinks bucket is dead because I may or may not have told him that bucket is dead

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
*bucket lol autocorrect

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
*BUCKY goddammit

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
U don't really have an excuse not to see him since otherwise he'd be suspicious

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
And I know u miss the avengers so maybe don't be mad at me for lying about bucket??

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
I'm not even gonna correct it

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
Anyways y'all r prob fucking but call me when u get these

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
Also Nat says hi she's at the compound w me

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
K bye

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
Jk what's ur avengers ID they have snack machines here but u need an ID and I forgot mine

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
Nvm Nat got me sum oreos :)

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
I'm gonna go home now everyone's being really passive aggressive cuz they want you to be here and it's somehow my fault that u aren't

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
If you're still getting laid rn I'm jealous

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
Like damn

Gay Friendly Bird-Man  
That's impressive bro

Unsure whether to be annoyed or amused, I call him. He picks up on the second ring.

"Were you having sex that entire time?"

"How do we know this isn't just a way for Tony to find out where Bucky is?"

I hear Sam sigh deeply. "As I previously stated, Anthony Edward Stark believes that James Buchanan Barnes is dead. This indicates-"

"Thank you, Professor Wilson. What I meant was, how do we know that he bought that story?"

"Well, as you may have found out if you were at the compound with me-"

"Stop harping about that and I won't harp about the fact that you told him that Bucky is dead without checking with us to see if that was okay. Because honestly, that was a pretty fucking stupi-"

"Alright, alright, I get it. But I actually had Nat tell him, and she fucking sold it. I almost teared up."

"Really?"

"No. But she was convincing, and apparently you were so desperate to see your best friend again that you forced me to help you free him, only to have him tragically die when HYDRA hit men came to your apartment and shot him right in front of you."

"Well that's morbid."

"It makes a sound explanation why you've been off the grid-you're grieving. And you still will be when you see him."

"And you really didn't think to tell me about this? Or check with me to see if I was okay with involving Natasha?"

"Look, I'm sorry man, but I can't keep them off my back forever. I'm happy to keep you in your little bubble for now, but when push comes to shove, I'm still an Avenger. An Avenger that has to interact with other Avengers. Who very much want to know where you are. The longer we wait, the more suspicious we get. I just made an executive decision."

I sigh deeply, and smile when I hear the water in the shower sputter to a stop. I love seeing Bucky right after he gets out of the shower, all clean and nice-smelling and-

"Steve, you with me?"

I blush a little, though he obviously doesn't know the reason why I zoned out. "Uh, yeah. You...it's fine, Sam. I understand."

"Oh, thank God," he says, a comedic amount of relief washing over his tone, "You have no idea how scary you are when you get angry."

I grin, and wave to Bucky, who's coming out of the bathroom wearing a towel slung low on his hips. He blows a kiss in response, and walks to the bedroom to get dressed. I can't help but admire his form, the towel that's barely covering his-

"Steve?"

"Yep. I'm here. Look, I'll drive over to the compound tomorrow, don't worry."

"Remember to be depressed."

"Bye, Sam."

I hang up before he can fit in a salty response, and look at the silhouette of Bucky getting dressed against a curtain covered window streaming sunlight into our bedroom. Yeah, this little sheltered heaven can't last forever. But does that mean I can't enjoy it while it's here? I haven't been this happy in...

Shit, I don't think I've ever been this happy. I mean, all the things I've kept close to my chest, all the pain and fear I kept stuffed down for so long...the release of all that feels like I've physically lost a weight that was sitting on my chest. And Bucky-God, Bucky. I have never been more happy. There's no doubt about it.

I hate the idea of pretending he's dead again, of even imagining something so horrific, but if it means I can keep loving him, I'll do it. Lord knows, I would do anything for this man, this handsome, kind, remarkable man.

Bucky notices me staring at him and tosses a wink my way. "Enjoying the view, darlin'?"

"Always," I reply.


	17. Rue

"Do you remember that time we took your shield sledding?"

I thought Bucky was reading Macbeth, but when I look over I see him holding a notebook and pen instead. I stop getting ready to go to the compound and slide onto the bed beside him.

"It had so much less traction than we thought it would," he continues, "We just flew down the hill. Morita didn't stop making fun of us for a week. You got irritated by him real quick, but I didn't care. It was so fun..."

I watch his face, lost in memory. After a prolonged breath of silence, he opens his eyes and turns to me with a smile. I kiss his nose and scoot back off the bed, and he returns to his book. A healthy silence fills the air.

We walk to the door together once I'm ready to leave. "I'm not sure what time I'll be back, but don't wait up if it gets late."

"Okay," he says softly, and I pull him into a tight embrace. "I love you, Stevie. Be careful."

"I will," I reply. I continue to hold him, never tired of the way his warm body feels in my arms. "And if you need to talk to me, text Sam. Pretend he's your therapist, he has your number as Justin or something in his phone. As long as you keep it vague, hopefully no one will find out that you're-"

"Steve, I know. You don't need to worry, baby, I know how important it is to hide. I'm good at hiding, you know this already."

I roll my eyes at his smirk, and press my lips to it gently. Before the kiss escalates and I never make it out the door, I force myself to pull away. "Love you, Buck. See you when I get home."

He waves, and I hear him lock the door behind me as I make my way to the car. I wish I could see him in the window, but our curtains are too opaque to show his form. The car roars to life and I drive it away, counting on the memory of his love to remind me that he waits in that innocuous house.

When I reach the compound, Sam is waiting in the parking lot for me. He looks up from his phone when he hears my car, and stands facing me with his hands in his pockets. We agreed beforehand that I definitely can't walk in there alone.

I give a thin smile and greeting when I exit the vehicle. "Hey, Sam. How's it going?"

A familiar head of scarlet hair quickly appears from behind his car, and I curse as Natasha's dramatic entrance startles me. She smirks in response, and hops towards me to give a fleeting hug.

"I'm doing well, thanks for asking," she says, green eyes hiding some hidden emotion I can detect but not identify. I stay silent, remembering her role in Bucky being brought to Stark Tower what felt like years ago. It seems she sees the stiffness of my posture, because she steps back and clears her throat. "I've been talking to Tony, and it seems he really is sorry for taking Bucky. He just wants to clear the air, get you back on the team."

"Alright," I respond, and she nods, starting off towards the Tower with the expectation that we will follow. Her confidence astounds me, sometimes.

Sam grabs my shoulders and looks me dead in the eyes before I can chase after her. "Remember-depressed. Best buddy Bucky is dead, we're sad. You feel responsible for his death. Got it?"

His brown eyes hold mischief and purpose, but in them I see a snowy landscape, a train cutting through the mountain air. My arm, unable to reach him as I watch him fall to his death.

"Yeah, Sam. I don't think I'll need any help feeling responsible or grieved."

"Good," he responds, patting my shoulders and walking towards Natasha's figure with a skip in his step. Though the memory of that fateful train ride is unbelievably painful, I know that I have to immerse myself in it to keep us safe. I take a moment, a breath, and a step towards the tower spearing the sky.

<<<<>>><<<>>><<<>>><<<>>>

Flanked by Sam and Natasha, I hear boisterous laughter erupting from the meeting room ahead of us. I can't shake the need to turn back, but push past it, and open the door.

The laughter stops when they see me, and I'm met by the penetrating eyes of Tony, Bruce, Rhodey, and Clint. An awkward silence ensues, one that Clint quickly fills with a nervous laugh.

"Hey, Steve," he says, trying to hide the pity and accusation in his face. I look down, choosing not to respond.

Tony clears his throat, and strides over to where the three of us stand. He hesitates, then places a calloused hand on my shoulder. "We, uh...let's talk, shall we?"

I look out the window as I respond, "Sure,"

He steps back quickly as though I contain a disease, and all of us sit at the long table before us. I feel Natasha's hand squeeze mine underneath it, and I turn to her with a tight smile, before finally looking at Tony. His face is filled with guilt and...fear?...but he talks like he usually does, or at least tries to.

"I'm not going to lie and say that I regret my actions," he starts. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he coughs violently into the sleeve of his designer suit. "However, we can all agree that what happened was...God, Steve, none of us wanted you to lose him. We knew how much you cared about him, and this whole situation could've been handled better. And especially knowing what happened after...after you broke him out of his cell..." He trails off, and I fill my head with images of Bucky falling off the train. Like a charm, my eyes sting with tears.

Tony winces at the sight and looks down, continuing his speech quietly. "We didn't-I didn't want him to die. I never did, Steve, and I can't say how sorry I am for your loss." He practically whispers that last word, and he scrunches his nose in discomfort over his emotions.

Rhodey seems much more in control of himself, more relaxed, as he looks at me with kindness. "We just want you to know that we're here for you. We miss you, and the Avengers aren't the same without you. Whenever you're ready to take up the shield again, know that we're happy to support you and fight by your side."

I nod, and am surprised by the comfort their words have brought. Huh. Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought it would be.


	18. Cur

The moment he leaves the house-our house, I let the smile slide off my face. The amount of love I feel for Steve is terrifying, and though it's selfish, I just want to keep him for myself. I dunno, though, maybe that's just the "being locked in the house for an undetermined amount of time" speaking.

I see my book sitting on the counter, but instead of reading it I choose to make myself lunch. I've found cooking to be a nice distraction from my damaged mind, and I've been making Steve plenty of gourmet meals since we've been here. Right now, though, I'm just feeling like a turkey and cheese sandwich. I hum some dumb song that was on the radio earlier as I slap together my meal.

There isn't much to do when Steve's not around. No, that's not true. There's plenty to do when Steve's not around, I just don't feel like doing it. I often find myself like this, sitting on the couch with a plate full of food, silently eating while watching some show I'd rather see with him. Right now, it's Full House. I find sitcoms entertaining, Steve does not. Therefore, I have to wait until he's gone to watch them. I guess that's one good thing to offset the ache of missing him.

I wash my plate when I'm done, and laugh when I realize that I'm acting like a dog. Just sitting around pining until Steve comes home. I shake my head and dry off the dish, placing it gently into the cupboard with its friend. God, I'm a fucking dog. Of all the things to be.

"Soldat!" the voice barks, slapping my face with the back of its hand. I stand motionless, awaiting the mission I know comes with being unfrozen.

"посмотрите на его глаза, пустые, как у собаки, (Look at his eyes, empty like a dog's,)" a different voice sneers, "если бы только он плакал, когда ты ударил его. (If only he cried when you hit him.)"

"сядь, мальчик! (Sit, boy!)" A sharp pain erupts behind my kneecaps, and I fall to the ground. "перекатывать! (Roll over!)" More kicks, forcing me to roll onto my side. I hear their sharp laughter scrape across the bitter air, but I stay frozen and silent on the concrete floor.

"я думаю, что мы должны дать Фидо удовольствие, (I think we should give Fido a treat,)" I hear one of them say, "маленькая собачка была так послушна. (The little doggie has been so compliant.)"

The owner of the voice stoops down to put his face right next to mine, and I smell his yellow teeth as they curl into a sinister grin. "ты хочешь убить ребенка, солдат? (Do you want to kill a baby, Soldier?)"

I gasp as my skull nearly implodes from the pain of memory, and I scramble for a notebook. When I get a blank page in front of me, however, I realize that I don't want to remember this. I don't need a reminder of what they did to me, of the pain they inflicted and made me inflict. With shaking hands, I close the notebook and set it on my lap, leaning my head back against the cushioned fabric of the sofa.

Some days I wish I could stop feeling, stop remembering. Just live my life without the demons of my past nipping at my heels. Of course, I would never trade loving Steve for losing the things that have happened to me. He is worth all of it. But still, there are days when I wish it would all go away.

God, the pain. And not just the migraine that's pounding in my head right now, but the constant pain that I live in. The knowledge of what I've done. No matter how many times I'm reminded of my innocence, I don't think I'll ever be able to stop hearing the screams in my head, feeling the blood on my hands.

I'm so, so tired of this. Of living with this guilt, being hated by the world. Of hiding and pretending, of sitting in an empty home. I'm just sick of sitting here, staying strong, when I have a horrific past and a hazy future.

I have Steve. And yes, he's...he's everything. God, he really is. But even he comes with compromises and pain, things that I don't have much patience for anymore. Is it too much to ask just to have some joy? Some light without a dark side? It seems like everyone else has their fill, can I just have a little bit?

Maybe I'm selfish. Maybe I'm crying into the void, begging it to give me something I don't deserve. But I'm tired of this. I'm exhausted, and I just don't know what else to do.

I don't know how long I've been sitting here, head in hands. I hate to admit it, but I'm hoping that Steve will come, make me feel better. He really does have a way of making the voices in my head disappear, making me feel like I'm worth a damn. But he doesn't come. I sit on that goddamn couch until it's dark, deciding against making dinner, just torturing myself by waiting for a man I know isn't coming for me.

He did say not to wait up for him, that he would probably be home late. But I try to keep my eyes open, anyways, try to keep tears from spilling out of them. I almost feel angry, desperate for comfort, until I just give up. Change out of my clothes. Crawl into my bed. Stare at the wall. Wait for sleep. Wait for Steve. Wait for something to keep my mind from attacking itself constantly, making me crippled by pain.

I wait. For a while. And then a little longer. None of the things I long for come.


	19. Hands

When I wake his arms are around me.

The memory of yesterday's thoughts make my body feel heavy, but I nuzzle my face into the crook of Steve's neck and try to drown them out with his scent. I feel his heartbeat drum a steady pulse, and a hesitant calm slowly envelops me as I lazily doze against him.

He begins to wake with a groan, per usual. Blue eyes scrunch, then peel open to look at me. A sleepy smile, one I gladly return. "Hi," he says softly, pressing his forehead against mine. I simply hum in response, and drink in the intimacy. After a moment, he pulls back and starts to sit up.

"Nooo," I moan, and grab his arm to pull him back onto the bed. He laughs lightly and obliges, laying back down and placing a hand in my hair.

"We gotta get up eventually, baby," he murmurs, "And it seems like you've been up for a while anyways."

I silently curse and pout at him. "Five more minutes? I just wanna cuddle you, Stevie."

Adoration fills his eyes and he sets his arms back around me begrudgingly. "Five more minutes."

Twenty minutes later, Steve finally forces me out of bed, like a monster. I whine and cling to him, but he just pulls me along with him. Desperate for affection after all the insecurity and self-loathing I experienced last night, I can hardly keep my hands off him as we get dressed and start making breakfast. Thankfully, he doesn't mind.

Sixteen pancakes, two cups of coffee, and one explanation of the conversations that happened at the Tower later, however, he looks at me curiously. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

My eyes widen. "What? No, no, keep telling me about your evening."

He raises an eyebrow, but lowers it as panic fills his eyes. "Bucky, you didn't cut, did y-?"

"No!" I quickly assure him, but fear is still painted on his face. "No, I just...my brain wasn't very nice to me. I didn't think about self harm at all, but I kind of got stuck in a really negative thought spiral. Sorry if I'm being needy this morning."

He relaxes slightly, and looks at me seriously. "Having needs is not the same as being needy. You know that I am always here for you, and you never have to shy away for asking for things. Especially if those things are cuddles." His mouth quirks up a little at that, and I stand up from the table to give him a hug, his head resting against my torso and his arms slung around my waist.

"I love you, Stevie. I'll tell you when I need you-as long as you promise to do the same."

"I promise," he responds sincerely, and I pat his blonde hair before sitting back down.

"So everything went smoothly?" I ask. He gives a weak smile.

"Yeah, they bought our story. They all felt bad, and after we got the whole apologizing ordeal over with, we just played cards and watched a couple movies. Like the old days, when the Avengers first started. Pretending that you were..." He pauses to swallow and bite his lip before forcing himself to continue. "Pretending that you were dead was difficult, but all in all it was...it was pretty nice."

"That's incredible, Steve," I say, and I mean it. I'm overjoyed that he's able to have his friends back, but right now his face doesn't reflect the happiness I feel. "Isn't this good?" I ask, slightly concerned at his bitter expression.

"Yeah," he sighs, "It's good. It's really good. But the whole time I was there, I was just imagining introducing you to them. Bringing you onto the team, hanging out with all of us together. It...I guess it just bugs me that that isn't possible." A tense smile is forced onto his face, and he stands up to wash the dishes.

I stop him before he can make it to the sink. "That's valid, Steve. This situation doesn't have to be all good or all bad-it's acceptable to be happy to hang out with your friends, just like it's acceptable to be sad or angry about the circumstances that led to you reuniting with them. What you're feeling is justified, and it's okay for you to express your emotions about this. You know I won't judge you."

The next smile he gives is less tense, more pained. "It just reminded me of my first date with Sharon," he starts, filling me with confusion. What does that bitch have to do with this? "The whole time I was there, I was just thinking of you. Imagining it was you with me instead of her. And obviously the whole thing at the Tower was different, but it just feels like..."

"You can say it, Stevie," I nod encouragingly, even though I have no idea what's going on in his head right now.

"I don't know, it just feels like every time I do something that's supposed to make me happy, I can't stop thinking about you," He laughs hollowly and continues, "It scares me how much I love you, how I badly I need you. I want you everywhere, I want you to invade every aspect of my life so that I can have you all the time. But I can't. Because we're not normal, and I have to hide you away like you're some dirty little secret, even though you're the best thing that ever happened to me."

He looks down, embarrassed, but I pull move his face to look at me, holding his head between my palms. "You don't need to be ashamed of that, baby, because I feel it too. What we have...God, it's incredible. It's beautiful and volatile and perfect and terrifying. And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. As long as we stay honest, keep communicating, trust each other, everything will be okay. I can't make the world stable for you, darling, but I'll try my best to keep our love strong. Because if nothing else, we still have that."

"I will too," he says, taking a firm hold on my waist, "Always. We don't have to be normal to be functional, and even if what we have never sees the light, if you stay 'dead' forever, I'm not going anywhere. Sorry, Sarge, but you're stuck with me."

Overcome by passion, I initiate a wild kiss that almost burns. When we eventually pull apart, I look into those beautiful blue eyes with a smile. "Don't worry, Cap. A life with you is a life well lived."


	20. Cool

"So, Sam told me that you're dating Sharon Carter?"

We're sitting in one of Stark Tower's many living rooms. Tony asks the question, arm draped around Pepper's shoulders. Although the mention of her name makes me want to roll my eyes, I force a smile. "Yep, it's going pretty great."

"That's great, Steve," Natasha says, reaching across me to grab a Tootsie Roll from the bowl on the table. She says it with sincerity, too-Sam is still the only one that knows about my relationship with Bucky. She knows that he's alive, but not that he's the love of my life.

"You should bring her over for dinner some time!" Bruce exclaims in an uncharacteristically chipper manner, "I, for one, would love to meet her."

A chorus of agreement rings out from the people lounging on couches and chairs. "She's a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, right? Clint, Nat, do you two know her?" Rhodey asks, oddly invested in my love life.

Clint accepts the Snickers bar thrown at him by Natasha, and answers Rhodes. "I didn't know her that well, but we went on a few assignments together. Great gal, very badass. The CIA is way too lucky to have her."

Natasha laughs, "I'd say so. She's really sweet though, and great to talk to. Just fantastic, all around."

It's then that I realize how badly they want me to find love, someone to help me move on from the death of my best friend. I almost laugh at how earnest they are, how oblivious. I manage to smother my chuckle with a smile.

"Aww, look! He's thinking about her!" Tony cooes mockingly, and I throw a Jolly Rancher at him from the bowl on the table. He catches it, and faux outrage floods his face. "Captain!" he barks, "That was rude!"

As I shrug and give an apologetic face, I feel Natasha's arms wrap around my bicep. She rests her head on my shoulder, and looks at me with a proud smile. My heart breaks for how happy she is, sure that I care for Sharon. I smile back at her, and return to the conversation that has gone off the rails remarkably quickly.

"Chocolate makes you happy, it's obviously better!" Clint argues, his face coated with disbelief of Tony's idiocy. The aforementioned billionaire scoffs, and replies with equal emotion.

"Yeah, but sugary things give you a high, and anything that gives you a high is superior to all other things. Period."

Clint thinks for a moment, then smirks. "Chocolate goes well with coffee, which is superior to things that make you high. Therefore, chocolate is superior. Period."

I watch Tony juggle his need to win arguments and his undying love of caffiene. Finally, he slumps. "Yeah, alright," he concedes. Clint pumps a fist in the air and grabs two more Snicker's bars, handing one to Pepper. Pepper gives it to Tony, who accepts it with grace.

"Sir, Sam Wilson has arrived," JARVIS's voice announces from the ceiling. I jump, still not used to the disembodied voice. Tony notices this and smirks, but makes no comment.

"Send him up."

Sam bounces up, and the assembled heroes lazily greet him as he comes to sit next to me. Natasha uncurls her arms from mine to give him a high five as he scootches past her.

"Okay, now that the Falcon is finally here- Tony starts.

"C'mon, man, I was at the bank!" Sam whines, crossing his arms.

Tony looks at him with confusion. "Why were you at the bank?"

"I was getting a new debit card."

"What, did somebody hack into the other one? That happened to me once."

"No," Sam says slowly, "I just lost my old one."

"Oh," Tony responds, surprised, "Can't you do that online, though?"

"I mean, I probably could, but I like the face to face interaction. Besides, I needed to open a new checking account too, so I figured that I'd just get them both done at the same time."

Tony nods. "Makes sense. What bank? I'm a US Bank member-"

"Okay, time to be done. That was cute but it's run its course. As you were saying, Tony?" Natasha interjects, an amused smirk on her face.

"Right," he says, clearing his throat, "So now that Sam's here, Steve, we wanted to ask you something."

I look in confusion at Sam, who shrugs. Tony continues, "Most of us here have experienced grief before, and it's not something you want to tackle alone."

I furrow my eyebrows. "But I'm not alone, I've got you guys, and-Sharon-" I pause over that last name, but it goes unnoticed by the Avengers as Tony interrupts me.

"Yeah, you've got a support system. But we just think that it might be a good idea for you to have that support system...whenever you need it. And I mean I was already going to suggest this before all this shit went down, but now seems as good a time as any to-"

"To what?" I have an idea of where he's going, and I don't like it.

"To move into the Tower. Barton and Romanoff already agreed, Brucie's been staying here for a while, and Thor's Thor, so I just wanted to extend the offer to you."

No, no. This can't be happening.

Sam seems to notice my panic, because he tries to draw their attention away from me as he puts a grounding hand on my shoulder. "Why did I have to be here for you to ask him?"

"We figured that you might want to join the party if you heard Cap was, so we wanted to make sure you know that you're welcome, too," Clint smiles, reaching for his fourth candy bar. Natasha slaps his hand away, and he pouts.

"So, Steve, whaddya say?" Tony grins, but the smile fades when he sees my anxiety. "Steve?"

I clear my throat and shake my head, trying to keep up my facade. "Uh...yeah. I think I'm gonna have to think on this one, guys, sorry."

Tony looks at me, confused. "What's keeping you from coming here? I mean, you get free food, free rent..."

"Uh-"

"Where have you been staying, anyways?" Bruce pipes up. "Because we checked Sam's house, and you weren't there."

"Well-"

"He's been staying at one of my friends' house," Sam says, coming to the rescue like the superhero he is, "He probably just needs to talk it over with, uh, George. Right, Steve?"

I nod dumbly, and try to force a smile. Come on, Steve, you're fine, you're safe, you won't have to leave Bucky-

"Okay, well feel free to call whenever you get things settled with your friend," Pepper asserts, "We can take you in whenever."

"C-cool."

Holy motherfucking shit-balls, this is not cool.


	21. Elixir

When Steve comes in the door, I immediately know something is wrong.

He has this face he makes when he's trying to hide his internal panic. It's strange, makes him look like he's constipated. Most people accept this facade and treat him normally, but I'm not most people. So when I see his pained smile, attempting to pass off as normal, I confront him without hesitation.

"Hey, Buck-"

"What happened." My question comes off more as a statement, and he looks down with a laugh that sounds more hysterical than humored. He looks at me, and the poor man's anxiety is visible in his eyes.

"I..." His nose scrunches up, the way it does when he's trying to accept a bitter truth. I roll my eyes and walk over to the door, pulling him inside and locking it. Once I've seated the both of us on the couch, I look him in the eyes and silently demand him to spill.

"I have to leave," he says, voice heartbreakingly pained. I try to stay calm, contain the flood of fear that onsets at the sound of his words.

"Why?" I ask, my voice soft and soothing. He leans forward and rests his face on my shoulder. I automatically place my hands on his head and back, and rub them slowly as I listen to the words muffled by my shirt.

"Tony wants me to move into the Tower. All of them do. They think I need to live with someone, that grieving alone isn't healthy. And I tried to say no, baby, I really did, but there really isn't a way. They're waiting on me to give my response, and it has to be the one they want or else they'll get suspicious."

Tears prick my vision, and the thought of losing him sends a nauseating wave of anxiety throughout my body. I press a kiss to his hair, though, and try to be the support he needs. "Okay, darling, that's okay. It's a blessing to be with you, and I'll do anything to keep you. Anything at all." I hear him start to sob, feel his tears soak into my shirt, and I try to hold back my own emotion. "Oh, honey, don't cry, it's okay. We're going to be okay, Stevie, we are."

He pulls back and looks at me with red rimmed eyes. I feel his hand cup my cheek, and his eyes bore into me with adoring fascination. "I really don't know what I'd do without you," he says, voice breaking as he tries to hold back the sobs threatening to interrupt his proclamation. The intensity of the love pouring out of the raw emotion in his words sends tears involuntarily streaming down my face.

"It'll be okay," I whisper, and give a watery smile. He pulls me close to him, and I inhale his comforting scent as he silently soothes me with his embracing arms.

"I'm so sorry," he says, and I feel the vibrations of his words through his chest. "I wish there was some other way to appease them, something I could do to stay here, but there really isn't."

I take a deep breath, and close my eyes. Pulling back and looking at him once more, I wipe the tears off my face. "Stop apologizing," I say, determined and centered. "We've been through a whole lotta shit, Steve Rogers, and this is just one more obstacle we're gonna tackle. I know that I'm not gonna stop loving you just because you're moving to Tony's ugly-ass skyscraper-"

He chuckles, and the sound warms my heart. "We'll be okay, Stevie. Promise. I will love you no matter how far you go. Til the end of the line."

"I love you, James," he says, and the use of my first name somehow makes his words all the more powerful. "I love you, and I swear to God if Tony tries to take you away from me one more time I will shiv him." I let out a belly laugh at that, and he cracks a grin along with me. "Seriously, Buck, that bitch is not tearing us apart."

My laughter fades off with a sigh, and I look at him with a smile, taking his hands in mine. "We'll be okay, Rogers."

"Okay."

"And if you're leaving tomorrow, pal, I swear to God you won't be sleeping tonight." My smile turns wicked, and he catches on quickly, surging forward to meet our lips in a kiss.

............................................

I follow through on that promise, and early the next morning, I brew an extra large pot of coffee. I hear the shower going, but decide against joining my lover. He does have to leave eventually, after all. The thought dampens my weary bliss.

After he texted Tony last night, confirmed the move, the Avengers were overjoyed. Confused as to why the Captain was texting them at three in the morning, but overjoyed nonetheless. Though the confirmation of his departure filled me with sadness, I simply focused on drinking in his fleeting presence. I mull over worries and memories as I wait for the coffee to brew, listening to Steve's off-key shower song with a small smile on my face.

I get a mug and travel cup ready, filling both to the brim. When Steve comes out, smelling like juniper and joy, I hand him his magic morning elixir. He accepts it with grace, pressing a kiss to my cheek before downing the entire container. I laugh out loud, and he winks with baggy eyes before refilling the mug.

"You got your bag ready?" I ask, leaning against his back with one arm slung low on his waist, the other holding my cup.

"Yup," he confirms, turning to me with a sleepy smile. I press a lingering kiss to his dopey face, and it looks much more awake when I pull away.

"Good," I say, taking a large gulp of coffee to offset my sleepless night, "Don't want you to be late. What time is Sam picking you up, again?"

"Uh, seven, I think," he replies after swallowing a mouthful of coffee. "I dunno, he'll pick me up when he picks me up." I roll my eyes at him and set down my mug, wrapping my arms around his broad chest. He follows suit, and we simply hold each other until the sound of Sam's car pulling into the driveway forces us to pull apart.

I go into the bedroom to grab Steve's bag, and bring it back to the kitchen for him as he tops off his coffee. He smiles at me, and I kiss him one last time. I try to pull away when Sam's car honks multiple times in a row, but Steve holds me close, trapping me against his addictive lips. I'm breathless when we part, and he presses one last kiss to my forehead before making his way out the door.

"I love you," he says, looking back with his bag in one hand and his oversized travel mug in the other.

I smile back at him, trying to force down my sadness. "Love you too, Stevie."

And with that, he's gone.


	22. Love

I've been living in Stark Tower-or, the Avengers Tower-for two weeks now. And it's going a lot better than expected, which is a shock to say the least. I call and text Bucky daily, under his contact name of George. I've managed to excuse myself frequently to go see him, and no one's batted an eye. All in all, everything's perfect.

Well, except for the fact that everyone is being an annoying prick.

I mean, I know that they're happy for me and Sharon. It comes from a good place. But Jesus FUCKING Christ, if I hear one more sappy comment or suggestive joke I swear to God I will choke the person nearest to me. Unless that person is Bucky, of course.

Part of me wants to break up with her, but another part of me knows that my internalized homophobia can't handle that. Yeah, I looked it up, and it's a thing. Turns out the voices in my head telling me I'm sick and awful aren't just me going crazy.

I hate pretending to care for her, making her feel things for me that I can never return. I hate sharing a bed with her, taking scalding hot showers afterwards to try and get the feeling of her body off my skin. I hate how patient Bucky is, how understanding he is of my insecurities. I hate it all. But I do it anyways.

And the Avengers? They only make things worse. Two weeks, and I'm already spending hours at a time in the training rooms, punching equipment instead of my teammates who only mean well. I'm glad Sam is here. At least I have someone who understands how pissed I am.

Everyone else thinks I'm either nuts or grieving. I overheard them talking one night, worrying over my behavior. Again-they mean well. And I'm truly grateful that I have friends who care about my well being, but I still can't help but want to scream at them constantly, erase the name Sharon from their minds.

The only thing that really helps is seeing Bucky. He's taking this separation much better than I am, spending his days researching and catching up on everything he's missed. One day, he showed me a presentation he made about the Cold War. He was so excited to display the transitions he put on, it was adorable. I took a video of it, and I watch it whenever I really need a pick me up.

We haven't been on any missions since we all moved in. Maybe that's part of why I'm so tense. In any case, though, I just want things to be like they were. I just want my Bucky.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

When I wake up on the morning of my sixteenth day in the Tower, I check my phone to see a text from "George". I unlock the device and am greeted by a picture of a dog, clearly a picture Bucky took from the legs visible in the photo and the shaky camerawork. He sent a text below it saying: "I saw him on a walk this morning!!! Look how cute!!! :D" I smile at the emoticon he's so fond of using, and respond: "I think I know someone cuter ;) but he is adorable though"

Walking into the kitchen, I'm shocked to see everyone already awake and assembled. Well, everyone except Sam, who I assume is on his morning run. When Natasha spots me in the doorway, she hops off the counter and steps over to me. Linking her arm in mine, she leads me over to the others and sits me down on a stool.

"Why's everybody together this morning?" I ask. given that everyone on the team has vastly different schedules, we rarely congregate like this.

Clint grins at me and slides a cup of coffee across the counter. "Family breakfast! My idea, of course," he says, pausing to wink and sip coffee out of his favorite mug-the pot. "Bonding is great, you know." As he continues to sip his caffeine serenely, Tony slaps Rhodey in the face with the spoon he's using to stir pancake batter.

"Okay..." I reply, still confused. I turn to Natasha, who simply shrugs at me.

"Again, his idea," she says with a smirk, "Which explains why it's so bad." She gestures to Bruce, who's trying to break up a fight between Rhodes and Tony. Rhodey rolls his eyes and leaves with little prompting, wiping pancake batter off his face with a paper towel that he then throws at Tony. Bruce holds the billionaire back, and Stark settles with throwing a middle finger his best friend's way. Rhodey simply rolls his eyes in response.

"I think this is fantastic," Clint argues, "Everyone all together, being buds...I mean, most of us don't have a significant other to spend time with in the mornings, anyways."

"Well, those people are lame," Tony responds smugly. Clint throws a dirty look his way, but Tony only smirks before continuing. "Seriously, guys, you're superheroes! It really isn't that hard to get a date. I mean, if Steve Rogers can get a girl, anyone can."

"Hey, be nice," Natasha responds, "I think we all know that Sharon was the one to get him."

"Oh, sorry, sorry," he says, grinning and pouring batter onto the griddle with a sizzle. "I forgot that he lost his flirting game while spending time as a Capsicle."

I shift in my seat, trying to contain my irritation. Clint notices this.

"Aw, come on, Steve, don't listen to them. They're just teasing. Hey, speaking of Sharon, have you two said the 'L word' yet?"

I frown at him in confusion. "The what?"

Tony leans across the counter and bats his eyes mockingly. "You know, have you said you looooove her yet?"

I close my eyes and exhale, trying to fight down the fury that lit in me at the suggestion that I could love anyone other than Bucky. My rage goes unnoticed, though, as Nat grabs my arm and continues the interrogation.

"You guys have been together for a while, and you really seem to like each other. Do you love her?" Again, good intentions shine through her eyes. But her words aren't doing anything good.

When I make no move to respond, Bruce clears his throat and steps in timidly. "Come on, if he doesn't want to answer he doesn't have t-"

"No, I wanna know!" Tony interrupts, piercing me with cynical eyes, "Or, I wanna hear him say it. I mean, we all know the answer, but just tell us, Rogers!"

"Come on, Steve, please!" Natasha whines, tugging my arm.

Clint's eyes twinkle when he adds, "We know you do, pal, no use denying it-"

But it's Tony saying, "I know it's hard to accept something good after losing someone in your life, but I'm sure Bucky would want you to be happy," that makes me snap.

"You wanna know if I love her?" I bark, startling their teasing grins into shocked expressions, "Here's your answer, dick wads-no! I do not and never will love Sharon Carter, and the only fucking person I ever will love is James fucking Barnes. And if you all weren't a bunch of ignorant assholes, maybe I wouldn't have to hide him away! But no, you just have to think he's some awful criminal when in reality he is the most kind, gentle, and wonderful person that has ever existed! So do the world a favor, and shut the fuck up!"

The shocked silence lasts for only a moment, before Tony says, "I'm sorry, what?"

End of Book One


End file.
